Lost
by moon-dragon3
Summary: The sequel to 'Ill Words'. Happiness never lasts, but this has a plot hidden amongst the angst! Please review!
1. In which Severus is a bastard

Harry awoke at some stage in the night needing to use the bathroom. He quietly padded out of the door, pausing to look regretfully at Neville's empty bed (The school had believed Neville would be better suited to a new school, that was less magically taxing on it's students.) On his way back, he paused to smile at his reflection in the mirror. Potions had actually become something of a strong suit for him, and he had found a great interest in the study of research. With Snape's help, he had formulated a hair-taming potion, which flattened his unruly hair into less wild curls. Of course, the potion hadn't been easy. Several questions had arisen - from ingredients, where one concoction had given Harry green hair for two weeks and another had given him a falsetto voice, which other pupils had found very amusing, to method of taking the potion. Having ingested the potion after Snape had deemed it safe, Harry had found that every hair on his body had become poker straight, making him look like a woolly-mammoth. Snape had almost died laughing.  
  
Life was good. His magical powers were under better control, thanks to training with Dumbledore. Sirius and Lupin were both on speaking terms with him, although Harry was sad to think that their previous closeness had been destroyed. He trusted Snape with his life and beyond, but sometimes wished he had some fragment of his parents to clutch onto.  
  
Realising how cold his feet were getting, he pulled himself from his thoughts and moved away towards the dormitory and his warm bed, a small smile gracing his lips as he thought proudly of how he could bear to look at himself in the mirror.  
  
Life was good.  
  
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Snape rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache, it was almost midnight, and he had a huge pile of essays to mark. It would be considerably smaller if Granger could keep to the damn word limit. He had marked her down, because for all the information she had memorised she still did not UNDERSTAND. And that was what was giving him a headache. Why, why could the stupid little imbeciles not understand the process of potions? He was honestly beginning to despair.  
  
His moods lifted a little when he saw Finnigan's essay, which was sloppily written on half a sheet of parchment. Pathetic. There was nothing so satisfying as writing that word in red ink all over someone else's writing. It made Snape feel powerful.  
  
Thomas' wasn't too bad. Not that Snape would ever admit it. And then. . .well well, what a surprise. Harry had actually managed to keep to the word limit. Not that Snape would ever tell him, but Harry was student who could excel at Potions, given time. He understood; he saw the subtlety needed with the order of the ingredients. That hair potion he had invented should be patented, but even after all he knew about Harry, Snape was still reluctant to over-praise him.  
  
Reading the essay, Snape found his forehead wrinkling in concentration, the headache and fatigue forgotten. Oh, the essay was brilliantly written; Snape himself couldn't have done better, and he was one of the top Potions Masters in Europe. It was the note attached to the parchment that was making him wonder. Quite simply, it said  
  
"Idea for a variation on Draught of the Living Dead. Recipe as usual but add shredded aconite and a bezoar."  
  
Snape couldn't for the life of him understand how that would work. Add the ingredients where? How much? Why? There were so many questions unanswered. And what would the changed recipe accomplish?  
  
The more he tried to think, the more his head spun, until finally he fell asleep at his desk, the remaining essays ungraded.  
  
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The next morning he had a stinking headache. He saw spots in front of his eyes, and felt nauseous the moment he got out of bed.  
  
Oh Merlin, don't let me be ill NOW he groaned inwardly. It seemed like a very cruel irony that he had escaped poisoning by a hair's breadth in Voldemort's time, but was now coming down with some kind of disease.  
  
His ruminations were disturbed by the need to vomit, and he staggered into the bathroom, nearly knocking himself out on the rim of the toilet as he threw up. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him and therefore nearly leapt out of his skin when someone's hands pulled his long hair out of the way. It would be Harry, of course. He was the only one who knew the password to Snape's rooms.  
  
"I was going to ask how you're feeling" said Harry with a slight chuckle. "But I can see that the answer's fairly apparent. Professor Dumbledore asked me to come and tell you that lessons are cancelled."  
  
"Why?" managed Snape weakly, before throwing up again. Harry rubbed his back soothingly.  
  
"Some Hufflepuff second-year has got 'flu, and seems to have passed it on to virtually everyone in the school. Though I must admit, I thought you had a strong. . ."  
  
"Don't say it" snarled Snape, the effect slightly ruined by him nearly fainting. Harry caught him.  
  
"All those years I served under Voldemort" groaned Snape, "And the first thing that brings me down in 'flu. A Muggle disease, contracted from a BLOODY HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
Harry winced. Snape sounded seriously deranged.  
  
"C'mon. You'll feel better for being in bed."  
  
"Why aren't you ill?"  
  
Snape knew how petulant he sounded. He didn't care.  
  
"I'm the boy-who-lived. I have to be different, remember?"  
  
This time it was Snape who winced at the bitterness in those words. He knew that some of Harry's scars, both physical and mental, would stay with him until the end of time. At that time, however, he didn't care. He felt ill.  
  
Harry must be virtually carrying him. He certainly couldn't move. His legs felt like lead jelly, if such a thing existed. He was so busy contemplating the possibilities he didn't even notice Harry talking.  
  
"Snape!"  
  
"Ten points from Gryffindor" he snapped, suddenly tired of Harry's cheerful demeanour. As he was looking sullenly at the bedclothes, he didn't notice the hurt look that flashed across Harry's face before it was quickly checked and replaced with the cheerful mask again.  
  
"Dumbledore told me to look after you. Those were his specific orders, and I am obliged to carry them out. So stop moaning."  
  
Deciding that he didn't really mind if Harry was mad with him, Snape unleashed his formidable tongue, the illness unlocking the barbs which he had hidden so well. He liked Harry, but everyone annoyed Severus Snape in some way, and Severus Snape always had something to say about those who annoyed him. Summoning the last of his strength, he reached up and grabbed Harry.  
  
"I do not need you, with your sickening optimism and know-it-all attitude. I do not need molly-coddling, as you do. I require no human closeness, in fact I find it most tiresome. Now GET OUT!"  
  
Harry felt like he had been punched - no, shot - in the stomach as he looked at Snape's face. The black eyes glittered malevolently, no trace of warmth in them now. Again, Harry hid his pain and turned away. Snape thought he'd gone, but he just went into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of water.  
  
"You need to drink." He said shortly. Snape's temper rose, and he threw the glass of water at Harry, uncaring at the gasp that escaped the boy when the glass hit him full on in the face. There was blood. Stupid boy deserved it.  
  
"Do not make me repeat myself, Potter. Get out, and get out now before I do something much less pleasant, like push your wand down your arrogant little throat. GO!"  
  
Emotionlessly, Harry walked quickly to the door, wrenched it open savagely.  
  
"Close the door behind you, Potter" drawled Snape, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head as Harry had the audacity to slam the damn thing so hard it cracked in the middle.  
  
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Harry ran all the way up to his dorm. Everyone except Dean and Lavender from his year was ill, and had been confined to bed. He knew that if he fled to the dorm he would be heard by everyone, so he stopped, and went back to the bathroom. There, he allowed the tears to fall. It didn't help. He put a shatter-proof charm on the mirror, and began to hurl curses and hexes at it. That didn't help either. Looking into the mirror, he saw a long gash running down his cheek from where Snape had thrown the glass at him. And then, as if by magic, his eyes were drawn to a razor lying by one of the sinks. He mustn't - he shouldn't - he really shouldn't.  
  
Why?  
  
Snape had told him not to. But Snape hated him. Harry was no fool; he knew that such stinging words must have festered for some time. Unbidden bitterness welled up in him at the thought of Snape pretending to care, and only being annoyed and disgusted by him. Before he even knew what was happening, he saw blood trickling along his arm. Furious at his idiocy for cutting straight across his wrist, where anyone would see it, he slashed further up his arm, and sighed in relief as he felt the tension ebb away. Stupid, really, to imagine that he had ever been cured. . .  
  
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There you go. . .a small taster chapter of the sequel to Ill Words, called 'Lost'. Please tell me if you want me to continue. . .I really want feedback about what I should change, and what I should keep the same. I have a vague idea for a plot (yep, not all angst this time!) 


	2. In which Moaning Myrtle messes things up

Moaning Myrtle peered through the tap, her slightly spotty chin stretching into a grin as she saw her favourite wizard. Harry Potter. He was handsome, if a little dazed looking in those huge glasses he constantly wore. Although, his hair was less of a mess. Must be some new potion. Myrtle thought morosely. She wished it had been invented in her time. Maybe then she wouldn't have been constantly teased, and ridiculed, and teased, and laughed at. . .  
  
She was drawn from her thoughts by the look on Harry's face. Entering the bathroom, he had looked normal, but now there was such look of anguish on his face that the world might have turned upside down for him. He suddenly began firing hexes at the mirror; nasty hexes that Myrtle had seen a certain potions professor using. And she had seen Harry going in there a fair few times, at the dead of night. Surely that didn't mean. . .  
  
Suddenly Harry stopped, and looked into the mirror. Myrtle belatedly noticed that his cheek was bleeding. Maybe he had been in a fight? But surely he would have fought back? And then his eyes unfocussed, and he reached out for a razor. Curiously, Myrtle drifted forwards, looking over his shoulder. She almost gasped aloud when he drew the blade across his skin, causing a few droplets of blood to rise to the surface. He scowled at the blade, and then suddenly rolled up his sleeve and slashed the blade downwards, splitting the delicate skin apart and sending blood rushing this time to the surface. And then he smiled; not a sinister, menacing smile, but the smile of someone who's finally had a burden lifted from their shoulders. Wide eyes, Myrtle backed off, and disappeared down the drain.  
  
Who would have thought it?  
  
So, he was depressed. Obviously. Very depressed, and emotional. He had a bad history, that was obvious from the scars on his arms. Deep scars, purpling slightly in the coolness of the bathroom. He had obviously just been in a fight; he had come from the direction of the Dungeons; he had been spending a lot of time with Professor Snape lately.  
  
The puzzle pieces all fitted together. Harry was seeing Snape. They had just broken up. What a scandal! Myrtle was so caught up in the excitement of her new-found knowledge that she ran straight through the Fat Friar. He smiled benevolently as she drew up, gasping slightly from her exertions.  
  
"Hello my dear. How are you today?"  
  
"Ooh, I'm so shocked. You wouldn't believe what I found out today. . ."  
  
***************************************  
  
Nearly Headless Nick was floating benignly through the dormitories, wishing all the Gryffindors well, when the Bloody Baron approached him, looking even more ferocious than usual.  
  
"Sir Nicholas" he rumbled "A word if you please?"  
  
Nick puffed his chest out, furious at a Slytherin entering the Gryffindor rooms, and preceded the Baron out of the room.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I have just been speaking to Charlton on the third floor. He has heard a most interesting rumour, Nicholas. About a certain Gryffindor and a certain teacher. Why did you not inform me?"  
  
Nick was confused.  
  
"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about" he said.  
  
"Harry Potter and Severus Snape" snarled the Baron, his eyes glowing menacingly. "They are. . .involved."  
  
"Rubbish!" exclaimed Nick. "They are no such thing. Friends; no more."  
  
"That wasn't what I heard from Charlton."  
  
"And where did Charlton hear this from?"  
  
The Bloody Baron was momentarily floored.  
  
"An extremely unreliable source, no doubt" huffed Nick, and headed away. He did however catch the Baron's last words.  
  
"Unreliable, maybe. But gossip travels quickly, whether reliable or not."  
  
***********************************************  
  
Harry stared into the mirror. He didn't know how much later it was; he couldn't find the energy to move. Snape despised him. All those times he had trusted him, and the man had just been irritated by him. Annoyed. Fed up. How stupid was Harry? For thinking that someone actually cared?  
  
Suddenly a voice jerked him out of his thoughts.  
  
"Harry Potter?"  
  
He frowned. It sounded like. . .  
  
"Nick?"  
  
The ghost floated through the door.  
  
"Harry, I'm awfully sorry to bother you. . .thought you should know. . ."  
  
"What?"  
  
Harry normally got on well with Nearly Headless Nick, but he had limited patience at the moment.  
  
"There has been a rumour that you and Professor Snape became. . .ah . .rather close, shall we say."  
  
Harry looked up, to see Nick turning slightly red, and the colour drained out of his face.  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"I'm afraid, my dear boy, that all the ghosts and paintings are talking about it."  
  
Harry felt suddenly sick.  
  
"But I'm not. . .I've never. . .we're friends!"  
  
Nick nodded sympathetically.  
  
"I know, Harry. But the rumours will not stop because of that."  
  
Severus. . .his job. . .his future. . .if people believed this, then he would be arrested, possibly sent to Azkaban. How had this happened?  
  
"I never, Nick!" he shouted, more shrilly than he had intended to. Nick nodded gravely.  
  
"I do believe you, Harry, and I will do what I can to help. But. . .there will be trouble. I thought you should know first."  
  
With that he turned and drifted out of the bathroom, leaving Harry alone and vulnerable.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Snape felt like shit, to put it frankly. His head throbbed and pounded and he wished that he could get Harry back. It occurred to him that he had been a little harsh; but surely Harry would understand that he was ill?  
  
Deciding, he summoned his owl to him, and scribbled out a weak note.  
  
"Harry,  
  
I require your presence in the Dungeons immediately.  
  
Professor S. Snape."  
  
He sent the owl off just as the Bloody Baron waltzed through the doorway.  
  
"Severus, we have a problem."  
  
*************************************************  
  
Harry cautiously poked his head around the door. A hand immediately grabbed him and slammed him against the wall.  
  
"What have you done?" Snarled Snape, spit flying at Harry who had to make a conscious effort not to flinch.  
  
"I. . .I'm sorry."  
  
As it turned out, it was the worst thing Harry could have said.  
  
"Foolish boy! Imbecile! You spread a rumour like this. . .one that could get me thrown into Azkaban. . .on the strength of some petty little argument?"  
  
"I. . .I didn't. . ."  
  
"Stop your foolish stuttering" he snapped, aware that he was hurting harry by pushing him back against the wall. "You apologised. Forget it. Get out, and never come back. And this time I mean it! That you could repay me for all I've done for you in such a way; I credited you with some further sense than your father, but the same stupidity runs in your veins; the same weakness. Get out of my sight, and never, ever presume to expect my care again."  
  
Harry didn't even try to hide his feelings at the words delivered in such an icy unfeeling tone. His eyes welled up with tears.  
  
"I trusted you, Potter, and you have decided to throw that trust away. Cease your snivelling and go away."" Harry shivered suddenly, feeling both the cold of the dungeons and the chill of Snape's words.  
  
"You mean it" he murmered. His only response was to be thrown out of the portrait hole by the scruff of his neck and hear the slam of the door behind him.  
  
Oh Harry he thought to himself, You've really buggered it up this time, haven't you.  
  
And then he rested against the portrait and closed his eyes in the silent pain that can only be understood by those who have had salvation snatched from their hands at their final breath.  
  
****************************************  
  
On the other side of the portrait hole, the Bloody Baron regarded Snape inscrutably.  
  
"You care for the boy" he said, slowly.  
  
"That is not true" aid Snape; possibly there was a snarl trying to accompany the words, but he just sounded old and weary. "I care nothing for anyone."  
  
"You do care for him, Severus. Even if you cannot see it, I do. Why? How is it that a Slytherin should feel so deeply about a Gryffindor? Although, of course, he is not strictly a Gryffindor."  
  
Snape's head rose, and he squinted at the Baron through watering eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"He is no true Gryffindor. He has the qualities, yes - bravery, loyalty, stupidity" - the ghost's mouth twisted into a sneer - "But he also has many Slytherin traits. His cunning; his thirst for victory; his manipulation."  
  
Seeing the look of confusion on Snape's face, the spectre continued.  
  
"At the sorting, the Hat wanted him in Slytherin. He fought it; overpowered it. Became a Gryffindor. And maybe things would have been vastly different if he had allowed his fate to be shaped for him."  
  
Snape's head hurt to much for him to want to figure out the cryptic statements of the Baron. He pulled a blanket over his head and waved the ghost towards the door, not even bothering to see if he was gone. The Baron stared for a few seconds, as though considering, and then left.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Harry felt a ghost pass through him, but didn't care. The icy sensation was slightly odd, but he was used to it now. The voice surprised him, though.  
  
"Young Gryffindor" said a deep, dull voice. "What are you doing here? This is no place for the shining and courageous folk."  
  
He wasn't really surprised to see Harry wince.  
  
"I am dull. I don't like it up there."  
  
"Hmm" said the Baron, and floated in front of Harry, looking at him carefully.  
  
"It is as I thought. You would have done far better in Slytherin. Your desires clouded your vision, and you chose the safest option. Life is not safe, young snake. Tom Riddle, hmm, he was so much like you. So much pain, so much anger. It all festered away in him, and he turned away from the light. I cannot see that being your fate; no, you will make yourself suffer rather than others."  
  
Harry looked up at the melancholy tone of the ghost in front of him.  
  
"Well, isn't it better for me to suffer?" he asked, slightly defiantly. The Baron, to his surprise, chuckled.  
  
"I thought you would say that, young snake. It is better for some, yes. But you must make sure that you can mete out suffering to those who deserve it, or else you will take the punishments of an unfair world of your skinny little shoulders."  
  
"Why do you call me snake?" asked Harry suddenly, mind flicking over the slightly surreal conversation.  
  
"You are a parselmouth" said the Baron, with a touch of wry humour. "But no, not only that. At heart, you are a snake. Not evil; no, not at all. But you will hide, curl up in the shadows. Tom Riddle, when he hurt, would turn around and savage those closest to him. You would prefer to hide and wait until the last minute before delivering a silent but deadly attack. So in effect, you are like the symbol of Slytherin, while Tom Riddle was the symbol of Gryffindor. Confusing, is it not? You have much of him in you, but the key parts are different. Tom Riddle's fate will not be your, young snake."  
  
"Do I have any fate at all? I thought they had mapped it all out for me" replied Harry, softly yet with a certain amount of bitterness. The Baron looked at him sharply.  
  
"Yes, I know that maybe they have burdened you too much in the past. In the future, perhaps they will leave you be too much. Humans are fallible, young snake. I am afraid that you have been forced to se that more than most."  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes dull.  
  
"I'm tired" he said frankly, and the Baron looked at him with something which might have been close to sympathy.  
  
"Go to bed, snakelet. I will talk to Severus. He does not truly understand. But falling over you in the morning will help neither of you."  
  
Harry smiled, slightly, and acquiesced. 


	3. In Which Harry Grows A Backbone

This chapter is dedicated to my adorable, fantastic, amazing etc beta readers DIAGONALIST and BABEKELLYSTAR. Thank you *grins maniacally, bounces and hugs*  
"Harry! Harry, wake up!"  
  
Harry looked up through bleary eyes at Dean.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Harry, there. . .there's trouble. Downstairs. Ron."  
  
The events of the last night rushed back, and Harry groaned and flopped onto his back.  
  
"He's saying you and Snape. . .eww!"  
  
Harry grimaced.  
  
"It's not true, Dean. I don't know who started the rumour; I heard last thing last night. But I suppose Ron would have believed it."  
  
Dean nodded.  
  
"I trust you, mate. But. . .I think you ought to get down there and calm them down a bit. Seamus is trying to shut Ron up."  
  
Harry nodded miserably and got to his feet.  
  
"It's so unfair" he grumbled.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Snape woke up to see the Bloody Baron hovering over him grimly. After shrieking and falling out of bed, he straightened out his night-shirt and gave the ghost his most intimidating glare. It didn't work, of course, but it made Snape feel a little better.  
  
"Severus Snape" began the spectre, and Snape suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the melodramatics.  
  
"You have been purposely unjust to that little snake. You should apologise."  
  
Snape realised with a jolt that he felt infinitely better. With this realisation came an overwhelming surge of guilt, and he lowered his eyes, feeling the lifeless form of the Baron move towards him.  
  
"Apologise, Severus, before it is too late."  
  
"I do not apologise" snapped Snape, drawing the remnants of his dignity about him like a cloak. The Baron glared at him ferociously, and the feared potions master almost quailed, but stood his ground. Sighing at the comparatively young man, the Baron waved a hand and Snape found himself gagged. The Baron smirked in a very Slytherin way and drifted towards the door.  
  
"The ties will leave as soon as you are regretful." And with those cryptic words, he disappeared.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Harry looked at Nick, who was floating in front of him.  
  
"I wish you'd give me some warning before you appear through a wall, Nick!"  
  
The ghost had the grace to look apologetic, but then he blocked Harry's way.  
  
"Harry, there are some rumours in the Common Room. . .I'm afraid you should wait before you go down. . .I mean, it's a little awkward. . ."  
  
"I know. Dean told me. And they won't go away until they've seen me. I have to do this."  
  
Nick shivered inwardly at the flat tone. Surely the boy had grown up enough already? He felt angry at everyone who had done anything to make Harry's life so miserable, but quelled the thoughts as he followed Harry into the Common Room. Immediately all hell broke loose, and Nick moved to the side to allow Harry to rush back to the dormitories as any other boy would have done. Harry took a deep breath and strode through the crowd, waiting for a direct question from someone. He didn't have long to wait before Dennis Creevey's voice piped up.  
  
"Harry, Harry! Is it true, what they're all saying about you and professor Snape? That you're. . ." he blushed - "going out with each other?"  
  
Silence dropped over the room like a cloud, broken by Harry's laugh.  
  
"Snape? Merlin!" he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, "Eew! That's disgusting! I'd never date anyone like HIM!"  
  
A visible ripple of relief ran through the common room, especially from some of the girls, and Harry gave a dazzling beam.  
  
"I can't believe anyone would be STUPID enough to believe that kind of rumour. Do you have any idea how much trouble me or Snape could get into? Anyway" he added, as if as an afterthought, "If I came onto him, he's probably hex my balls off!"  
  
There were muffled sniggers, and Ron pushed his way to the front of the crowd, face red.  
  
"Yeah, well that's what you say! How can you prove that you haven't been shagging that greasy git?"  
  
Harry turned slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly, and moved towards Ron who visibly flinched. He spoke in a deceptively smooth voice.  
  
"Oh yes, indeed. His preference of me in class has been simply staggering, hasn't it? And the way I am sneaking out at all hours to see him; and the high grades he has given me. It all points to one thing, doesn't it?"  
  
Ron blushed even more, but continued doggedly.  
  
"What about all those detentions he gives you?"  
  
"What about them? Fred, George, last I checked you were tying with me in the 'most detentions from Snape' list. Tell me, have you been getting some with him? A little menage a trois?"  
  
Now most of the room was laughing openly, Fred and George included. However the dangerous glint in their and Ginny's eyes said that Ron would be in trouble later. Harry smiled, although none of the Gryffindors spotted that it hadn't reached his eyes, and was grabbed by the elbows and propelled towards the door by Fred and George to go down to breakfast.  
  
Snape watched Harry, surreptitiously, knowing that the rumours would have started. There were the cursory jeers from the Slytherins, but the other houses seemed unconcerned which surprised him. Maybe Harry had managed to pull something off. . .  
  
He almost jumped as the piercing eyes locked with his, and he felt his cheeks beginning to heat under the intensity of the gaze. And then Harry let his lip curl into a perfectly scornful sneer that made Snape feel about a foot tall, and looked away boredly. How Slytherin. Snape actually felt guilty; no, terrible. Like he wanted to disappear through the floor. He wasn't meant to be intimidated!  
  
He felt the gag loosen and disappear (it was invisible), and tested out his tongue. Now he really had to apologise. But how?  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Harry sat at the back in Potions, aware of all the glances and snickers coming from the Slytherins. Well, a few Gryffindors were looking as well. He didn't really care. Walking into that room, on his own, had made him realise how stupid he had been to place so much trust in Snape. Not that trusting him had been such a terrible idea; just to trust him *so* much.  
  
Snape admired the boy's acting skills. He didn't know what Harry had said to the Gryffindors, but it had obviously worked. The boy had more Slytherin sense than anyone gave him credit for. Snape, of course, treated the boy as he always had. Not too much bitter sarcasm, but obviously no niceties. It was a useful tried-and-tested formula, and it had everyone sucked in. A truly masterful performance by both Slytherins.  
  
As he swept around, he slipped a note in Harry's pocket, the tensing of the boy's shoulders showing he had felt it. It was the most obvious, schoolboy kind of trick that he could have played. Which is why nobody would expect it, and indeed none did. He saw several people peering into Harry's cauldron, and waiting for him to issue a detention, but the summons never came, and Harry filed out with the rest of the class, laughing and joking, as though a mask had been drawn over his face. And despite himself, Snape felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Did I really mean that little to him?  
  
**************************************************  
  
It occurred to him, later, as he paced his rooms with his stomach churning that it was ironic how the tables had turned. Now it was Potter who seemed to have grown something of a backbone, while Snape was actually missing his company after. . .one day.  
  
Chastising himself, Snape resumed his relentless pacing before realising that that in itself was making him look harassed, and stood still, fighting the child-like urge to fidget. The blasted boy was late!  
  
***************************************************  
  
Harry lay on his bed, calmly watching a little trickle of blood flow down his arm. This wasn't like the manic slicing he had done before; this was control. He had never had any intention of going to see Snape; he could not bear to forgive the man, after all he had said to Harry. It was obvious, in retrospect, that he annoyed the man. After all, who wouldn't get fed up of the boy's incessant whinging?  
  
No more. He felt. . .liberated, like being with Snape had never made him feel. The time for hugs and soothing words had passed, in due time, and now he wanted respect. Constantly worried that he might become a replica of Voldemort, he hastened to adjust his thought. He wanted to earn respect from the people who counted.  
  
So he would work hard with his magic, and quidditch, he would try to rival Hermione for the best grades now that he had the power. He would keep his friends and put on a respectable face to the wizarding world, and let them believe in the deity that was the Boy-Who-Lived. Then he would pass his final exams, leave Hogwarts, and get a job; hopefully he would get offers, perhaps to become an Auror, or to play Quidditch. He would maybe marry, and have children; become a teacher in later life.  
  
He had it all in front of him.  
  
He could do it alone.  
  
He could cope.  
  
***************************************************  
  
Snape sank into a chair, dejection written all over his sallow face, the flickering candles illuminating the worry-lines and wrinkles that creased his nonetheless thin face. Harry wasn't coming.  
  
The one friend, his conscience told him, that he could have made. The one person in the world who he had cared about, who seemed to be on his wavelength. And he had thrown it away. Just because he didn't understand.  
  
A germ of worry niggled at the core of his heart. What if Harry had started cutting again? What if he wasn't eating? Who would he talk to then?  
  
Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had an unexpected detention.  
  
From anyone except you? mocked his conscience, and he fought the urge to smash the fire-tongs over his head to shut it up. Of course, that wouldn't help anything. Not at all, he repeated. He would not hit himself with the fire-tongs. . .he would NOT!  
  
A knock on the door made his leap up, tangling his robes in the chair leg and ragging the chair and himself down to the ground with a painful thump. His efforts to get up ceased when he heard Dumbledore's chuckle, and he slumped, dejected, to the ground again. Dumbledore helped him up, and twinkled. Merlin, how Snape wanted to rip that twinkle out of his mentor's eyes and stamp on it.  
  
"Good evening, Severus."  
  
Severus merely grunted and stared sullenly at the floor, aware that he seemed to be regressing to the age of a school-boy. And a damn sulky one at that.  
  
"I presume that you have heard the. . .ah. . .rumours?"  
  
Snape nodded curtly, and Dumbledore sighed.  
  
"I am sorry, my boy. I believe the Gryffindors are in full support of Harry"  
  
Snape snorted, and almost choked when none-too-gentle fingers forced his chin up so he was looking into the blue eyes which looked more like steel and ice now.  
  
"Severus, I will not tolerate this childish behaviour. Am no fool; I know somehow you and Harry have fought. I will say this once, and once only. You must apologise to him, and apologise sincerely. I do not care what grudges you have against James Potter. Look at Harry for himself; he relies on you. Do not repay that trust with cruelty, or you will regret it."  
  
With those cryptic words, he swept out of the classroom, leaving Snape to his very confused thoughts, the most pressing of which was,  
  
How and why would he be sorry?  
  
**********************************************  
  
Harry heard a long suffering sigh, and rolled onto his side, pushing the curtains to one side to see. Dean had his head in his hands and was currently slumped over his transfigurations textbook. Harry pulled the curtains properly open, so that Dean could hear him, and indeed his friend looked up.  
  
"You ok?"  
  
Dean shook his head miserably and gestured at the book with a look of disgust.  
  
"McGonagall set me a ton of extra work, I'm getting behind apparently, but I just hate transfiguration. Can you help me?"  
  
Harry perched on Dean's bed and nodded.  
  
"What are you having problems with?"  
  
"Well, I can turn a match into a needle, and. . .umm. . ."  
  
Harry smiled, and pulled his wand out, gesturing for Dean to do the same.  
  
"Show me a simple transfiguration." His eyes roamed around the room. "Say, this nail scissors into a stick."  
  
Dean gulped, and Harry laughed.  
  
"Relax! I'm not going to eat you!"  
  
Looking slightly less tense, Dean waved his wand in the usual figure-of- eight pattern and looked at the scissors. Nothing happened, and he grimaced. Harry looked at him in faint surprise, before speaking.  
  
"Did you know that you actually have to focus on the object before the transfigurations?"  
  
Dean nodded, affronted.  
  
"Ok then, describe the scissors to me" said Harry hiding them. Dean frowned slightly, brow furrowing in concentration.  
  
"They were silver. Um. . .quite light. They had a screw holding the two blades together."  
  
"What type of screw? What colour?"  
  
"Umm. . ."  
  
Harry smiled, and produced the scissors from behind his back. The screw had a cross on it, and was slightly rusted.  
  
"When we say focus, we mean really focus. Memorise every single tiny detail, or else the spell will go wrong or not work. Then imagine really clearly the kind of stick it needs to turn into. Like, exactly what colour. Build up a picture of it in your mind, so you see every single bump, every shoot. Got it? Now, try again."  
  
Dean shut his eyes, this time for longer, silent and relaxed. Then he opened his eyes and waved his wand, and the scissors became a large twig, green in colour, with several shoots protruding from it. Dean's eyes widened.  
  
"Wow! That's exactly what I imagined it to be like!"  
  
Harry tried very, very hard not to roll his eyes, painfully aware of how much like Snape he was becoming. He also resisted the urge to mutter 'Give the dog a bone' under his breath. He would not alienate Dean from him. Instead he forced a smile onto his face.  
  
"That was great Dean! Do you want to try it again?"  
  
"No, I want to try animals to inanimate objects."  
  
Harry winced; this could be painful, and he could already feel a headache coming on.  
  
"I think it would be better to stick with basic. . ."  
  
"No, I want to do animal transfigurations." Said his friend stubbornly. Harry silently counted to ten, tried to persuade his head to stop throbbing, and nodded.  
  
"Okay, we'll do one more inanimate transfiguration then animals, alright?"  
  
Dean nodded and Harry settled himself down for a long night of teaching. 


	4. In which the shit hits the fan

This is out so quickly because my betas were so quick to read it. So you have them to thank, and if you haven't read any of Diagonalist's stories, then why not? Go read them because they are better than mine! Oh, actually, read this first. Then go and read Flawed Lines which is the best Sev/Harry fic ever.  
Dean fell asleep in the middle of the 20th transfiguration. To Harry, it felt like the two millionth. Dean was a great guy, and a fantastic friend, but bloody useless at Transfiguration. He didn't have the patience to accept that he needed to wait and envisage before the transfiguration. Hence, the room was filled with grotesque half-changed animals. Wincing in sympathy, Harry dragged his tired limbs off the bed, pulled a cover over Dean, and began the arduous task of transfiguring the animals into their proper forms. Starting to transfigure a green flamingo with inverted tusks back into a mouse, Harry wondered what sort of thoughts ran through Dean's mind to make him transfigure a mouse into this absurd hybrid.  
  
It took a good two hours to finish transfiguring the animals back to their proper states, and Harry was completely exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. And it was 5.00am; if he did sleep, he would end up being more tired than if he didn't. So, drawing his thick winter cloak around his shoulders, he stepped out of the common room, not really knowing where he was going. His feet led him to the Astronomy Tower and he allowed himself to walk right to the edge and sit down, enjoying the freedom of being able swing his legs, knowing that he was so high above ground. Then he realised what he really wanted to do.  
  
"Accio Firebolt" he said softly, caressing the words. It had been so long since he had flown. He could feel the Firebolt whizzing towards him, and quickly caught it before disabling the wards on the Astronomy Tower so he could leap off without being noticed. The second he was in mid-air, he re- applied them, and then with foresight for any other depressed students, cast a slowing charm and a softening charm on the ground all around the Tower. That done, he allowed his broom to soar freely around the tower and onto the Quidditch pitch. The wind whipped his rapidly growing hair into his eyes, and he let out a yell of pure elation as he actually felt the life come back into his skin. It felt so good; so real. It had been so long since he had felt this free.  
  
He turned the broom quickly, and then again so he was diving downwards. About one meter from the ground, he jerked it up with another whoop, and sped up to the other end of the pitch. He wondered how well he could dive, and cast a cushioning charm on the ground. Then he dived to the ground. He forgot to pull up, and rolled onto the ground with a giggle. Quickly picking himself up again, he had another go, and got so low that he actually touched the ground with his fingers before shooting straight up.  
  
Invisible, from the Astronomy Tower, Snape watched the proceedings, wondering at the boy. He was smiling now, his eyes bright with tears from the wind and his cheeks reddened from the cool air. How could he have changed so quickly? Had it all been an act? Or was this all an act?  
  
Snape didn't like being confused. It irked him that he had seen through every lie and test that Voldemort had thought up for him, but he didn't understand this one boy. It also irked him that he was worried; that he cared. Nobody had ever cared for him, so why did he now care for Harry? Potter. Harry. Potter. Merlin, this was confusing. Yes, he felt contrite, but the boy was hardly making it easy for him to apologise. Not that he was particularly good at apologies anyway.  
  
The boy could fly. He would make a success of his life. If something had happened to make him see that he could help himself more than the slimy potions master could, then that was a good thing.  
  
So why did it hurt so much to see him hiding?  
  
And where had that thought come from?  
  
Hiding. Was he hiding? Who could recover so quickly? What was he, truly? Was he Harry the depressed boy, or was that a persona he applied to prevent people from idolising Potter? Or was Harry the darker side of Potter's persona? There were so many questions, and Snape couldn't answer any of them. He didn't know, and he didn't want to care. But he couldn't help it. He did.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Harry could see Snape watching him, and suddenly he felt anger overtake his logical senses. Did the stupid man think he couldn't see through simple invisibility spells? He pulled the Firebolt up sharply and leaned forward, urging it as fast as he could towards the Astronomy Tower, his eyes never leaving the dark robed figure. As he grew closer he saw Snape move to the side, as though to avoid him. He moved the Firebolt so he was still aiming at the teacher, and kept driving the broom forwards. He wasn't expecting Snape to stand still. At the last possible moment he moved the broom to the side, missing Snape by a fraction of an inch, and soared to the other side of the pitch, wondering, wondering.  
  
What had that expression on Snape's face meant?  
  
**************************************************  
  
Snape moved instinctively as Harry zoomed towards him, and almost had a heart attack when the boy changed course. Harry could see him. It really shouldn't have surprised him at all. He stood still savouring the quickly hidden surprise on Harry's face. At the last moment, the boy changed course and flew away, not even looking back.  
  
How had he changed so quickly? He had become a Slytherin, and a proud one at that.  
  
Like Tom Riddle.  
  
FLASHBACK   
  
Severus Snape sat at the back of Potions Classroom, under the pretence of brewing an anti-ageing potion, watching a Slytherin who he knew only by sight and by legend talking to Professor Dimpleworth. The short wild-haired man was gesturing with his hands agitatedly.  
  
"Mr Riddle, I must insist that you do not make this potion! It is dangerous!"  
  
"I am a good potions student" said Riddle smoothly, in a tone that brooked no argument. Stupidly, Dimpleworth tried to argue.  
  
"It is too complex! There is nobody in this school who could brew it."  
  
The professor's eyes gave him away, though, flicking towards Severus. Riddle followed his line of vision, and he smiled predatorily.  
  
"Well, professor, it's not a dangerous potion when brewed incorrectly. If you give me two weeks to brew it, I will do so, and immediately hand it over to Professor Dippet. Just to prove that I can."  
  
His piercing eyes never left Severus, and the younger boy found his palms growing sweaty under the gaze.  
  
Dimpleworth nodded reluctantly, indirectly signing Severus' life over to Voldemort, and Riddle smiled. It made Severus shudder to see such an archetypal Slytherin.  
  
END FLASHBACK   
  
Severus had helped Tom Riddle with that potion; and the next one. He had brewed the most complex, and it had been Severus who had facilitated most of the dangerous transformations Tom had gone through to become Lord Voldemort. So it was understandable that he was disturbed by the look on Harry's face that had reminded him so much of Tom Riddle.  
  
Sighing, he descended from the tower and walked back down to the dungeons, silent as a shadow.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Harry watched Snape leave from the other end of the pitch, his mood ruined. There was a painful lump in his throat, and he didn't know where it had come from. His cheeks suddenly burned with shame at the thought of how he'd repaid Snape's kindness. How he'd promised Snape he'd tae care, because it upset Snape to see all the blood. But times changed; Harry had changed. He had been forced to. So, what he was about to do wasn't really his fault, was it.  
  
It was amazing, really, how much blood came out of his arm with a small cut. Hating himself for it, he began to think about how it would feel to see all of his blood escape, run away like he himself had never been able to. What he would look like dead; peaceful? Scared? Tired, or relaxed?  
  
Would they cry for him? Would anyone have the sense to give him a quiet burial? Probably not; they would have the newspapers, and radio presenters, and hordes of mourners. Mourners who had never known him. Would Snape come? Would he cry?  
  
How would he do it? Would he slit his wrists, or take an overdose of sleeping potion? He could brew a poison, or jump off the Astronomy Tower. Or let go of his Firebolt in mid-air; or hang himself. It would be typical if a gun didn't work, and slightly impractical; he couldn't transfigure one, because he didn't know about the inner workings.  
  
He didn't realise he was writing it all down until the quill scratched his fingertip, causing a little trickle of blood. Then he realised how long he had been; breakfast would be over by now, and he would be late for charms. Throwing everything into his bag, he took off.  
  
****************************************************  
  
Flitwick was standing on his usual pile of books when Harry came in, and looked up with a smile.  
  
"Harry, so glad you could join us!"  
  
Harry loved the way there was no sarcasm; the wizard was actually delighted to see Harry. He didn't complain at his lateness, or the fact that he had forgotten his ink. Must have left it in the dormitory. The lesson was almost painfully easy, as they were just revising levitation charms. Unfortunately, Harry was paired with Seamus, and there was no way he could get through to the useless boy that aiming was actually very important. Thankfully, Harry had the foresight to cast a cushioning charm on himself so that he didn't get hurt when he flew into the walls. Not that the jarring didn't hurt a little bit. . .the repeated impacts were jarring his arms, and there was a thin trail of blood about to seep out of his sleeve. Annoyed, he surreptitiously cast a clotting spell and wiped the blood with his robe before going back to his torment with Seamus, not seeing the Irish boy's strange expression.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Dean jumped as Seamus grabbed his shoulder at the end of the class.  
  
"Wait. . .I need to talk to you."  
  
Dean looked back at Seamus and nodded, seeing the concern on his friend's face. As soon as Harry had gone, Seamus started talking quickly.  
  
"I'm worried about Harry, Dean. He's looked really tired and cut-off recently. . .and. . .there was blood, I think, on his sleeve today."  
  
Dean looked confused.  
  
"Well, he probably cut himself."  
  
Seamus nodded grimly.  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of."  
  
Dean looked blank, and the understanding and horror grew on his face.  
  
"No. . .he would have told us. Wouldn't he. . .wouldn't he?"  
  
Seamus shrugged, his normally dancing eyes dark.  
  
"He's been quiet, withdrawn. I don't know if he would have or not. I think we should try and find out. Maybe. . .maybe check his stuff. I hate to do it, but I'm really worried."  
  
Dean nodded, and both boys left for Transfiguration with heavy hearts and worried expressions.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Harry tried to keep his front on for the rest of the morning. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and scream, cry and hurt himself, but to leave class would arouse attention. Not that he noticed when Seamus said he had forgotten his textbook and left McGonagall's classroom with a meaningful glance to Dean. Harry was too busy trying to turn his flamingo back into a pencil-case - it was supposed to be a mouse. He must have flamingos on the brain.  
  
********************************************  
  
Seamus quickly went upstairs. He had left his book outside the room and had picked it up on the way out, but he really wanted to see what was in Harry's space.  
  
Taking the stairs two at a time, and slightly out of breath from the exertion, he walked over to Harry's bed, suddenly wondering if the powerful wizard had put any charms on his belongings. But there was no magical signature; obviously Harry trusted his friends. Biting back those thoughts, Seamus moved a pile of books so he could see under Harry's bed, and silently closed his eyes. There was a knife. There was blood on it. In varying degrees of drying. So he had been right.  
  
He didn't want to see anything else. Harry hadn't wanted them to know. But he wouldn't let this go. Not Harry; not Harry, who had so much to live for.  
  
Feet heavy, he picked up his book and walked down to the Transfiguration room.  
  
*********************************************  
  
On the way out of the classroom Harry stumbled over the desk leg, and fell heavily to the floor, jarring his arm and twisting his ankle. Dean was there in an instant, helping him up, and in his exhaustion harry didn't notice how careful Dean was to not touch his arms. The boy also helped him pack his bags, and Harry didn't notice his friend's wide eyes expression as he pocketed a loose piece of parchment with the tiniest dribble of blood on it.  
  
***********************************************  
  
After the lesson, Dean and Seamus hurried to the library, each noticing the grim expression on the other's face. Seamus shook his head miserably.  
  
"There was a knife under his bed. A bloody knife, fresh and old blood."  
  
Dean didn't look as horrified as Seamus thought he would.  
  
"Look what I found" he said softly, his voice strained, and handed the parchment to Seamus, who read it and slowly turned white.  
  
"What would I look like?. . .Would they have the sense. . .would Snape. . ."  
  
Seamus stopped reading, his eyes distraught.  
  
"We need to talk to Harry" he said quietly.  
  
*************************************************  
  
Harry felt slightly better at the thought of being able to freely cut when he got back to his dormitory. He almost ran the length, not even noticing Dean and Seamus until he ran straight into the Irish boy who was blocking his way.  
  
"Harry, I think we need to talk" he said, in a subdued voice that Harry had never heard from him before. And as he held out the knife, Harry understood and his heart felt like it had disapparated.  
  
They knew.  
  
Shit. 


	5. In Which Dumbledore gets Angry

"Shit" said Harry. Then he ran. Before he was hit with a body bind, and fell to the floor. Dean pulled him over so he was looking up, and Harry felt a guilty twinge at the worried expression on his face. Then his resolve hardened. It was none of their damned business.  
  
"Harry, honestly, we didn't mean to pry."  
  
Harry would have come out with a very Snape-ish retort if his mouth hadn't been magically shut, so he settled for glaring. It seemed to work; Dean edged away slightly. However he continued doggedly.  
  
"We were worried, and then Seamus saw your arm bleeding, and we care, Harry. We don't want to see you hurting yourself."  
  
Harry's heart twinged again. Perhaps they really did care. About Harry. But he had imagined that Snape had, and look how wrong he'd been there. Surely it wasn't a risk worth taking? He settled for glaring once more, scornfully, and Seamus loomed over him.  
  
"I want to talk, Harry. If you will listen without running, blink twice."  
  
Harry blinked twice and Seamus took off the spell. Harry made good use of his height over the Irish boy to stand up and glare menacingly down on him, before he carefully chose his words.  
  
"Thank you for caring. I will never forgive you for looking through my belongings. I don't want to talk about my feelings or anything else, and I am managing just fine on my own, thank you very much, so please leave me alone."  
  
Dean stepped forward.  
  
"We're not leaving you alone, Harry. Not anyway, but especially not after I found this."  
  
Any remaining colour drained out of Harry's cheeks as he stared at the parchment he had written that morning. The suicide ideas. Bloody hell, this was shaping up to be the worst day in his life. Ever. Dean and Seamus looked accusing, which made what he was about to do next an awful lot easier.  
  
He laughed.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Dean looked at Seamus in confusion and his Irish friend shrugged nonplussed. Why was Harry laughing?  
  
"Oh, you two. C'mon, how dense are you being?"  
  
Even to Harry's ears the words sounded fake. He was fake. He was lying.  
  
"You're overreacting! I mean, seriously. Who doesn't experiment with this sort of thing? Yeah, I did it a few times, just to feel what it was like. But it's hardly like I'm hooked or anything."  
  
His eyes twinkled merrily, and he smiled benevolently at the two slightly bemused Gryffindors.  
  
"I'm sorry I worried you. . .but really, you shouldn't have panicked. Everyone does it! It's just part of growing up."  
  
He saw the cautious glances they exchanged, and cheered inwardly. He had already anticipated their next question. Stupid Gryffindors. They couldn't see through any sort of lie. If it was a Slytherin. . .if it was Snape. . .he would be in St Mungos already. Fools.  
  
"But what about that parchment? It talks about suicide!"  
  
Harry forced a concerned expression onto his face.  
  
"Yes. . .I found it in the Common Room today, and put it in my bag to show McGonagall. I was quite concerned. It's not my handwriting! I don't know who left it though."  
  
It was true; he had obviously been so distressed at the time that he had been unable to even write properly, and the writing looked like that of someone else. It was a lie that might just work, especially on two not- especially-astute Gryffindors who would probably give their lives if Harry told them to.  
  
A cold, hard knot of pain and fear and hatred and sadness gathered in his stomach, and he forced a smile, hoping that his eyes looked like they were shining with happiness rather than tears. It worked.  
  
It had always worked.  
  
It always would work, because it was so simple.  
  
Tell them what they want to hear. Let them believe what they want to, and don't cross their minds.  
  
Dean let out a breath.  
  
"I still think it's pretty fucked that you're doing that, Harry. I think you should get some help."  
  
Harry grimaced, smiling inwardly at how well he could lie when he needed to.  
  
"I didn't really want to tell anyone about it. Because they'd freak out." he looked pointedly at the boys. "But I'm taking anti-depressants. Muggle ones. They help a lot."  
  
It hurt him, made him cringe, to talk about himself this way. Like he was some sort of crazed attention-seeking schoolchild. Perhaps he was. On second thoughts, he didn't want to contemplate his inner feelings. They scared him sometimes.  
  
********************************************  
  
Dean looked at Seamus uncertainly.  
  
"Do you believe him?"  
  
"Ye-ess. . ." murmered his friend, his eyes concerned. Together, they wrenched the door back open to see Harry standing by his bed, a stream of blood running down his arms which were horribly scarred. Dean was suddenly overcome with fury. He pulled out his wand and yelled 'Expelliarmus!'  
  
Harry flew backwards and landed on Ron's bed, gasping. Dean threw the knife down and grabbed Harry's collar.  
  
"You stupid bastard! Just admit that you need help!"  
  
Harry spat in his face, livid, and Seamus gripped Dean' hand to stop him from slapping the Boy Who Lived.  
  
"I think we need to see McGonagall."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Look, I've told you once to stay out of this. I don't want to repeat myself." Inwardly he was furious at being so foolish as to underestimate them. "I can destroy any evidence, and I will if you force me to go to anyone."  
  
Dean shook his head, and held up Harry's wand. Then he petrified Harry and levitated him up to the Infirmary.  
  
Pomfrey looked up, and sighed.  
  
"What's he done this time?" she asked resignedly. Dean shook his head.  
  
"He cut himself. Can you get the Headmaster and professor McGonagall?"  
  
Blanching slightly, Pomfrey moved over to the fireplace and called everyone to the Infirmary as Dean sank down next to Harry, who was glaring blue murder at them both. Pomfrey rolled up Harry's sleeves and saw. . .  
  
Nothing.  
  
She looked icily at Dean and Seamus, who were totally nonplussed.  
  
"I thought you said. . ."  
  
"He did! We. . ."  
  
". . .saw it, we saw the knife and. . ."  
  
"Well there's patently nothing wrong with him! I think. . ."  
  
"We're not lying! We honestly. . ."  
  
"Saw it, we would swear our lives to it!"  
  
"What exactly is going on here?" asked Dumbledore, who had just entered. McGonagall was right behind him, and they both paled slightly on seeing Harry.  
  
"Oh no."  
  
"No, Headmaster, he's alright." Pomfrey shot an evil look at the two Gryffindors. "He's just fine."  
  
"He's not!" protested Seamus vehemently. "He was cutting his arms!"  
  
"Well I see no marks!"  
  
Dumbledore held up his hands automatically, forcing a twinkle into his eyes, and stepped between the medi-witch and the Gryffindors. Inwardly his mind was swirling. He had known people who had known people who had self- harmed. To him, it had seemed like a cry for attention. But one could never be too careful. And it seemed he had misjudged the Boy Who Lived terribly in the past. This theory would also explain what it was Severus had always refused to tell him. . .  
  
Moving next to Harry, he examined the boy carefully. The skin was completely unblemished, white and fine. Completely unblemished. . .he froze, and checked. Yes, it was that arm which Wormtail had cut. Clever, sneaky boy.  
  
"Finite incantatem" he said. There was no effect, the arm stayed as smooth and unmarked as it had been. But deep inside he felt a flicker of power, the murmur of a deep spell. There was a concealment charm.  
  
Delving deeper into the boy's magic and mind, he repeated the spell, aware of Poppy shooing away the other watchers. The spell was hard, and as he tried to break it the cords resisted strongly, pushing him further away and confounding his mind. Eventually, knowing that he would pass out from exhaustion if he was much longer, he released Harry and sank back, looking through narrowed eyes at his prodigy. Had he really been so terrible as to bring this on the boy's shoulders, or had he been an accident waiting to happen, as it were?  
  
McGonagall placed a hand on his shoulder tremulously.  
  
"Albus?"  
  
"Concealing charms" he said shortly. "Too heavy, too powerful for me to break."  
  
Her hand squeezed his shoulder gently, and he sat back suddenly feeling very much his age.  
  
"Was it all my fault?"  
  
McGonagall didn't answer; perhaps she didn't know what he meant. Perhaps.  
  
"Will you send Severus up to my office, please? And ask Poppy to inform me as soon as Harry wakes up."  
  
And with that, he swept out of the infirmary, twinkle firmly in place, smiling benevolently at everyone he met on the way back to his office.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Snape snarled the password at the gargoyle and walked swiftly up the stairs, rapping sharply on the headmaster's door. He didn't know what this was about, but he had been in the middle of a very good book and glass of red wine, mentally steeling himself to face his next class. Dumbledore's voice commanded him to enter, and Snape suddenly had a bad feeling. That was the type of voice he'd heard used before. And the repercussions were not normally very nice.  
  
Resignedly he entered the office, and winced at the cold fire burning in Dumbledore's eyes. He sat without being asked to, as he had a feeling he would need to. He didn't have long to wait before Dumbledore blew up.  
  
"You fool! You knew all along that Harry was harming himself, and did not see fit to inform anyone!"  
  
Snape couldn't remember ever seeing the headmaster so angry; perhaps because he knew about everything, and had time to formulate a suitably grave demeanour. Anyway. . .  
  
His eyes flashed like sleet, and Snape sank back in his chair, trying to think of a good excuse. None came, and he settled for cursing the boy. Dumbledore leaned forwards, his eyes still furious.  
  
"Two of his friends took him to the Hospital Wing today, claiming his arms were cut. Nobody could see anything. There didn't seem to be any concealing charms. There were, though. Deep and strong, so much so that I could not break them."  
  
Snape winced. Nothing would piss Dumbledore off more than inaptitude.  
  
"Well, Severus? Why is it you have not seen fit to inform me? For Merlin's sake! Anything could have happened. Were you trying to respect his privacy? Did you think he'd get better on his own?"  
  
Again, Snape couldn't answer. He felt a flush rising in his face as it occurred to him how stupid he'd been. Dumbledore leaned back, now looking more old than angry, and regarded Snape.  
  
"I am very disappointed in you, Severus. I will not take any action, but I do expect you to visit the Hospital Wing and talk to Harry; both to apologise, and find out more about his problem."  
  
Snape nodded numbly and left, all the while thinking,  
  
'Curse the boy for putting me in this position.' 


	6. In Which Sev gets Pissed

Snape sat by Harry's bed, and waited. He didn't want to be here, Merlin he didn't. But he had little choice. He didn't want to incur the wrath of Dumbledore.  
  
Right on cue, the green eyes flicked open, shining with. . .hope? Happiness? No. Not shining at all. Dull. Snape felt a twinge of pain. Had he caused this?  
  
"How are you feeling?" he asked, uncertain of what kind of tone to use.  
  
"Very well, thank you" said Harry, his voice detached. Snape nodded.  
  
"Dumbledore sent you, didn't he?"  
  
Snape nodded again and the infuriating boy smirked.  
  
"I bet he was really annoyed with you, and told you to visit me as penance. Well, thank you for enquiring about my health. Thank you very much. You can go now."  
  
Snape paused, wanting to say something, anything, to make things better, more like they had been before. But the words wouldn't come, and he silently stalked away, robes swishing behind. Had he looked back, he would have seen the shields Harry had built up around himself collapse, and a look of exhaustion and longing pass over the boy's face before he turned over and tried to sleep.  
  
********************************************  
  
Snape almost walked straight into Dumbledore on his way out, and quickly backed up.  
  
"That was quick, Severus."  
  
Snape winced.  
  
"He didn't really want to talk to me. Tired, I suppose."  
  
Merlin, how many years had he been spying? And yet he still could not lie to Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"We argued. He will not speak to me, probably ever again."  
  
"I know"  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. Of course Dumbledore knew. The damn man knew everything.  
  
********************************************  
  
The day dragged by, and Harry didn't do anything. He ate, as requested, and stared at the ceiling, wondering how long it would be until he could get out and wring Dean and Seamus' necks. Night fell, and he obediently swallowed his sleeping potion, lay down and fell asleep.  
  
And then the nightmares began.  
  
Vernon, Cedric, Voldemort, Draco, Dudley. They danced and screamed, and he didn't know which was worse, but he was screaming along with them, and he wondered whether the screaming would ever end, until his eyes sprung open, filled with tears, and he batted angrily at them, pushing whoever was touching him away, feeling sick at the thought of human contact. There was the sound of retreating footsteps, and he was all alone, but the tears had dried up and much as he didn't want to, h could see the slumped shoulders of Severus Snape dejectedly walking out of the room before Pomfrey came bustling in, and he switched off again, uncaring about what she said or did.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Snape watched Harry as he fell asleep. Even out of consciousness, he looked tense and unhappy. For a while Snape regarded him, eyes emotionless, and stood tall and still. When he was sure Harry was asleep, he walked over to the bed and sat down. Soon the screaming started. Snape didn't know why, but he had been expecting it. Harry screaming as though his very heart was being ripped out disturbed Snape, and he took Harry's hand, trying to pull him out of the horrible visions he would be having. It worked, to a certain extent, as Harry opened his eyes suddenly. However he immediately covered his face, recoiling away from Snape, and the older man felt as though his own heart had been wrenched out. Silently, he walked towards the door, and left without looking back.  
  
***************************************************  
  
Hogsmeade was pleasantly quiet, and Snape could sit in the corner without being noticed, nursing his Firewhisky between two pale hands, and wondering why he had to bollock everything up. He didn't know why exactly he was getting totally pissed over some boy who was meant to be his arch-enemy, and it was getting harder to contemplate after every drink. There had been a lot.  
  
Of course, it wasn't very fitting behaviour for a member of Hogwarts staff to get completely sloshed before a day of teaching, but frankly Snape had drunk so much he couldn't give a flying fuck. Anyway, if Dumbledore hadn't wanted him to go then he would have stopped him from leaving - there were wards on the gates which allowed Albus to control who came and went. So. . .it was easier to believe that he had implicit permission to inebriate himself totally.  
  
Contemplating the deep red liquid in the tankard, he wondered whether he ought to stop. He ran his hand over his robes, feeling the familiar hardness against the cloth (hehe), and relaxed, gesturing for the same again, confident in the knowledge he had a bottle of hangover remedy in his pocket.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
The next morning dawned bright; too bright for Harry's abused eyes. Madam Pomfrey brought him a bowl of broth and watched as he ate it, feigning disinterest. Harry couldn't bring himself to care.  
  
"How long will I be here?"  
  
"Until we decide that you are. . .umm. . .stable enough to leave."  
  
Harry winced at her words.  
  
"I'm perfectly stable! Merlin, do you see any scars?"  
  
"The headmaster said there were concealing charms" she said stubbornly, and Harry saw his opportunity.  
  
"Oh, Madam Pomfrey. Seriously, who could maintain a concealing charm for so many days? I don't have my wand, and Professor Flitwick told us any covering charms would only last for twelve hours."  
  
He could see the wheels turning, and smirked inwardly. No need to tell Madam Pomfrey that the concealing charm he used were a combination, and that they would last until removed. The medi-witch looked at him, inspecting his arms, and finally nodded.  
  
"I can't understand this, Mr Potter. I presume it was some puerile joke?"  
  
Harry nodded, shame-faced, and Pomfrey sighed.  
  
"Well, you can go then. But if anything like this ever happens again. . ."  
  
Harry smiled brightly, nodded, and ran, throwing a robe over his striped pyjamas.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Snape woke up with a groan, wondering why exactly he had fallen asleep grading papers, and who on earth was having the temerity to shake him awake. Then he realised that he wasn't in the Dungeons. It was too bright, and smelled. . .fresh. Eew.  
  
He then realised he was in the Three Broomsticks, and that he was meant to be in Hogwarts. Shit. . .and that was. . .who, exactly, poking him?  
  
"Professor, Professor Snape, sir?"  
  
Oh God. He could have recognised that sycophantic voice anywhere.  
  
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for a waking a teacher" he snarled, not raising his head, before he realised that Percy Weasley was no longer at school. Damn.  
  
"Professor, is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
"Yes" said Snape, softly raising his head and affecting a grateful smile. He beckoned the foolish boy closer and leaned over to whisper in his ear.  
  
"GO AWAY!" he suddenly roared, making the boy almost fall over the table. With a frightened glance, Percy fled the pub, vowing never to offer his help to the snarky bastard again, and Snape laid back down onto the table, wishing the world would swallow him alive.  
  
He didn't even notice the footsteps that approached him from behind, or the stunning spell that hit him.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Harry wondered vaguely why the hell he had decided to go back to classes. It seemed like so much effort. Beyond the door he could hear professor Binns droning on, and decided that he would skip History of Magic and just head to his dormitory until Transfiguration. Then he realised he was still wearing Madam Pomfrey's striped Hospital Wing pyjamas, and thought that changing into the rest of his uniform would be a good idea.  
  
He quickly slipped upstairs and stripped himself. Just then the mirror gave a gasp.  
  
"Oh you poor thing! What on earth happened to you?"  
  
Harry looked down. His chest and back and arms were covered with scars and few new cuts, although they had been for some time. Then he realised he had been changing in the bathroom for almost a year, and smiled slightly.  
  
"Oh, nothing."  
  
The mirror snorted, but remained silent, wisely, seeing as mirrors could easily be smashed with an accurate hex, and Harry admired his body in the mirror for a moment. He had taken off the concealing charms, not wanting to drain his magic too much, and now all the scars and cuts stood out sharply against his pale skin. He was slightly more muscular than he had been, from beginning to play Quidditch again, although still slender. Something that made him look innocent had disappeared over the last year, although his eyes were the same deep green, his hair still jet black if smoother. Maybe it was the way in which his cheekbones stood out from his slightly sunken cheeks, or the shadow that had fallen over his eyes like a mourning veil.  
  
Jerking himself from his contemplations, he quickly pulled on a fresh shirt and his jumper and then his trousers, finally throwing his robe over the top as the bell went for them to go to Transfiguration. On his way out, he paused, and aimed his wand at the mirror.  
  
"Obliviate"  
  
**********************************************  
  
"Ah, Mr Potter. Take a seat" said McGonagall, and Harry sat, acutely aware of all the glances he was getting. His stay in the Hospital had been widely publicised, and people had made their own conclusions, some closer to the mark than others. This new stay in the Infirmary would be bound to draw questioning. Sure enough, the murmuring started immediately, until McGonagall finally snapped,  
  
"Will you please be quiet and concentrate on the lesson? Or would you all rather transfigure your noses into pumpkins rather than change the colour of your skin?"  
  
Harry winced. So they were working on human transformations. That was not good. Harry could do them alright, as they had to be studied before concealing charms could be successfully applied. However he didn't want to think about what Dean might do to himself. His fears were quickly dealt with by McGonagall, however.  
  
"I have cast a charm that will enable your faces to revert to their normal colour and shape" she paused, a glint in her eye, "After twelve hours. So while mistakes will not be permanent, they will probably be quite embarrassing"  
  
Dean put his head in his hands and groaned loudly, to the amusement of the rest of the class, and a despairing look from McGonagall. Harry decided that he wouldn't help. He was angry enough at Dean to laugh at whatever he managed to transfigure himself into.  
  
**************************************************  
  
At the end of the lesson, a smirking Harry was the only one to escape with his normal skin tone. Hermione had come close, but couldn't manage the reversal spell and so had dark skin which looked odd with her light hair. Ron was red and gold; better than green and silver, Harry had heard him mutter resignedly at the end. McGonagall looked like she was trying not to laugh as Seamus walked past minus one arm. However Dean was definitely worst off. Harry didn't want to know what he had been thinking off as he walked past dejectedly. One arm was covered in scales with a mole's claw sticking out of the bottom. Parrot feathers ran down his cheekbones where sideburns would be, and he seemed to have transplanted Hermione's teeth into his mouth. It was not a pretty sight, and certainly not enhanced by the mottled green skin he had also managed to transfer onto himself. Dean's day was not going to be enjoyable.  
  
Sure enough, at lunchtime, once McGonagall had forced him to take the balaclava off, the catcalls started. Then Hermione flushed.  
  
"Oh! You have my teeth!"  
  
Dean blushed deep red (below the green) and Hermione also blushed, smiling.  
  
"That's so sweet, Dean!"  
  
They gazed at each other for a few moments before Ron and Seamus both pointedly cleared their throats, and then jumped apart, both still blushing furiously. Harry smirked, which was probably not a good idea, since it drew attention to him. Dean and Seamus both tried to catch his eye but he purposefully looked in the other direction, and Hermione gave him an odd look.  
  
"Harry, could I have a word with you?"  
  
Dean and Seamus suddenly looked uneasy under Harry's gaze, and he realised that they must have told her. Gloomily he got to his feet, having finished his food, and left with her, his eyes automatically flicking to the Staff Table. What he saw nearly made him fall over.  
  
For the first time since he had been at Hogwarts, Snape was not there.  
Ok, who can guess who abducted Snape? I had one theory but both my betas vetoed it *glares* saying that it was crap. So who do you think it is? Kudos to whoever guesses right. 


	7. In Which Severus meets his attacker

Harry followed Hermione out of the Hall, puzzling over Snape's absence. Even  
  
when he had been spying on Voldemort, he had never missed a meal in the  
  
hall. Not once. So why on earth start now?  
  
A niggling ball of worry rolling around his gut informed harry that it was  
  
almost certainly his fault. He had been too harsh on the man who had tried  
  
to help him; who had been there, pulled him out of the dream.  
  
However now didn't seem to be the best time to contemplate this. Hermione  
  
looked at him, sadness and sympathy shining in her eyes and Harry felt a  
  
rush of hot anger. What right did she have to be concerned now? Where had  
  
that concern been when he needed it?  
  
"Harry, Dean and Seamus spoke to me. They were so worried about your. .  
  
.umm, self-mutilation. . .we didn't know what to do. Did you talk to Madam  
  
Pomfrey?"  
  
The phrase 'self-mutilation' made Harry squirm, and he forced yet another  
  
fake smile onto his face and nodded. It was enough to make Hermione look  
  
relieved, but he elaborated anyway.  
  
"I discussed things with her and professor Dumbledore. . .I feel a lot  
  
better now."  
  
"Oh good" she said, looking relieved. "Do you. . ."  
  
Her question was cut off by Harry pulling her into a dark corner as  
  
Dumbledore and McGonagall came out talking in low voices.  
  
"He's disappeared, Minerva. He left the castle and went to Hogsmeade last  
  
night - with my permission, don't look so disapproving - and then he was  
  
charted as being in the Three Broomsticks this morning. However just now he  
  
disappeared from the chart. Someone must have taken him"  
  
Harry felt suddenly cold and hot and dizzy, and was aware of Hermione  
  
tugging his sleeve. Oh God, it was his fault. If he hadn't flinched away. .  
  
.if he hadn't ignored Snape. . .slowly his will crumbled and he began to  
  
shiver. Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide and anxious.  
  
"Oh Harry, what do you think has happened to him?"  
  
Harry shrugged, cursing her. How the hell should he know? He was furious at  
  
himself for being so worried. Snape was a fully grown man; he could take  
  
perfectly good care of himself. And he meant nothing to Harry.  
  
However after trusting someone for so long, it was hard to just make life go  
  
back to normal. How would the old Harry Potter have acted? Rubbing his  
  
temples, he forced himself not to hit Hermione as she persistently tugged on  
  
his sleeve.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you think he's alright?"  
  
"Um, well, since he seems to have been abducted, I would say NO!"  
  
She flinched at his tone of voice and glared, but he wasn't listening. He  
  
had heard Dumbledore.  
  
"I think Harry will try and go after him if he finds out, Minerva. Make sure  
  
he is closely guarded."  
  
Harry presumed his head of house had nodded. There was the sound of  
  
retreating footsteps which faded into silence, and he stared at Hermione.  
  
"I thought all this crap was meant to be over when Voldemort died?"  
  
*************************************************  
  
Snape tried to open his eyes, and groaned at the pain. His head felt like it  
  
was being split open. He wondered where he was. This certainly didn't look  
  
like the Three Broomsticks. Or smell like it, for that matter. He wrinkled  
  
his nose. Smelled like old meat. It felt like a cave; it was dark, but he  
  
could feel cool air circulating, and there was dust underneath him. His  
  
first thought was that Voldemort must finally have got to him. Then he  
  
remembered that Voldemort and all of the Death Eaters were dead. Or Kissed,  
  
which was not much better. So. . .he was in a cave. Somewhere. After all  
  
these years of spying, he was finally kidnapped when Voldemort was dead. How  
  
ironic, he sneered to himself.  
  
And then all sarcastic traces of irony fled his mind as he recognised the  
  
voice which cast the spell.  
  
'Itortuus'  
  
He bit his lip against the pain. Sirius Black had never been as strong a  
  
wizard as Snape, but some anger seemed to fuel these offensive spells and  
  
give them a great potency. The curse lifted, and a boot thudded into his  
  
side, causing the ribs to pop with a sickening sound. Snape groaned and  
  
rolled over, trying to get up before he realised he was bound with magical  
  
ropes.  
  
Damn Sirius Black for growing a brain.  
  
"To. . .ugh. . .what do I owe this pleasure, Black?" he asked, spitting  
  
blood onto the cave floor from where he had bitten his tongue at the mutt's  
  
kick.  
  
"My godson" hissed Black. "You corrupted him. . .Remus told me all about it.  
  
He trusted you, you slimy bastard!"  
  
He punctuated his last sentence with kicks to Snape's stomach, and with a  
  
small shock some part of Snape's brain told him that, after all these years  
  
of determined survival, clawing his way back from death as many times as  
  
Harry, he was now going to be killed by a jealous dog. It was a cruel irony.  
  
He tried to force his tortured muscles into relaxation, to prevent his death  
  
from being long and drawn out. Another rib cracked, and he winced despite  
  
himself. There was very little he could do against such reckless hate, and  
  
in some perverse way he deserved it, really. Deserved it for not being there  
  
for Harry when he had been needed.  
  
The kicks stopped, and he could hear Sirius' ragged breathing above him. It  
  
almost sounded like the man was sobbing.  
  
"I wanted to be there for him, but I didn't know how. How could you  
  
understand? You're just greasy Snape, the nasty potions master. How could it  
  
have been you who understood Harry? It's not fair!"  
  
Snape shook his head, painfully, coughing up blood.  
  
"It's not, is it? Believe me, I didn't want to help him. I didn't want  
  
anything to do with him. But circumstances meant that you couldn't be there,  
  
and I was. Whatever I've done in my past, I am not a cruel man now. . ."  
  
He was cut off by Black lifting him from the ground with a snarl.  
  
"Not cruel? NOT CRUEL? Dumbledore told me what happened. He told me how you  
  
had exploded at him, hurt him, broken him. That's the cruellest thing you've  
  
ever done, Snape!"  
  
Mentally Snape cursed both himself, Dumbledore and Black to a thousand  
  
painful deaths as spots began to form in front of his eyes.  
  
"Impassus!" roared Black, and waves of pain crashed through Snape, as his  
  
eyes began to roll back in his head.  
  
"Impassus!" again, with the same ferocity, and he saw Black's loathing of  
  
Snape and himself written clearly in the pale and haggard face.  
  
"Impassus!", running out of breath, even his internal organs pulsing with  
  
pain. So this was it, this was the end.  
  
"Impassus!" Black's tear-streaked face, the last thing he saw, and he  
  
succumbed to the warm, sweet darkness.  
  
***************************************************  
  
Sirius looked down at his unconscious enemy. Much as he had acted it in his  
  
carefree schooldays, he was no idiot, and he knew the strength of the curse  
  
he had been wielding. One more 'dose' would finish off Snape. He should do  
  
it. He wanted to. He hated the man as he had never hated before, for knowing  
  
how to help his godson; the one love in his life. Someone he could care for.  
  
But he had handled it all so badly, and then Remus had upset him further,  
  
and still Snape had been there. Always there, giving Harry the support that  
  
SIRIUS should have given him. And it seemed that hurting Snape was the only  
  
way to make him feel better. When he had seen the eldest Weasley walking  
  
down the street looking very disgruntled, and then had found out that Snape  
  
was hung-over in the Three Broomsticks was an unmissable opportunity. Now he  
  
was feeling slightly bad. Well, Harry didn't need him. Harry would be fine  
  
with Sirius. Harry was meant to be with Sirius.  
  
Raising his wand, he took a deep breath.  
  
"Impass. . ."  
  
"Expelliarmus!"  
  
Sirius flew backwards with the force of the spell, his face not even having  
  
time to contort into dismay. He wished he didn't recognise the voice, and he  
  
wished that he could close his eyes so that he would not have to see the  
  
emotions play over Dumbledore's face. Disappointment? Anger? Sadness?  
  
Probably all three.  
  
But nothing happened. He lay motionless, magically stunned but still awake,  
  
on the cool hard floor of the cave, and began to feel scared. He was going  
  
to go back to Azkaban. With the Dementors; but this time, with nobody to  
  
save him, no ray of light to be seen. He could hear the low mutter of  
  
voices, and then someone calling Snape's name loudly, but there was no  
  
response.  
  
Then there were footsteps, and he was released from his bonds. It was  
  
Dumbledore, as he had feared.  
  
"Mr Black, you will accompany me back to the school" he said curtly, his  
  
eyes cold, and Sirius felt like something had died inside.  
  
"Albus, I didn't know what to do. How was it him? It should have been me! I  
  
should have been the one to look after him. He's MY godson!"  
  
Dumbledore's expression softened slightly, and he even gave Sirius a hand  
  
up.  
  
"I fail to see why you cannot just talk about these things like a sensible  
  
man, Sirius."  
  
Sirius hung his head.  
  
"Will he be ok?"  
  
"Yes. . .Severus has come through worse than this, though he may refuse to  
  
admit it. Were I you, I would steer well clear of him."  
  
"You mean. . .I'm not going to Azkaban?"  
  
"No. You do not deserve that, however foolish your actions today have been."  
  
Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, though from the look in Dumbledore's blue  
  
eyes he was by no means off the hook. Still. . .no Azkaban. . .maybe, maybe  
  
it wasn't too late to see Harry. Maybe he could make things better now.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Hermione was REALLY getting on Harry's nerves. Every five minutes she would  
  
lay down her book, refusing to leave him alone but obviously bored by his  
  
feeble attempts at conversation, and ask if he thought Snape was back. When  
  
he finally lost his temper and said he didn't know, and he was going to take  
  
a walk, she glared at him and followed him out of the Common Room still  
  
clutching her book. Accepting that he would get no peace, Harry finally sat  
  
down sulkily and looked out of the window. Which was how he saw Snape come  
  
back. On a stretcher.  
  
Eyes wide, he rushed downstairs, ignoring Hermione's cries for him to stop  
  
running in the corridors, and wrenched the main doors open so that  
  
McGonagall could bring Snape through. Laid out on the stretcher, his lips  
  
were tinged with purple and his mouth covered in dried blood. Silently,  
  
Harry watched them go past, thinking how much Snape looked like he was dead.  
  
Thinking how it felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his heart. 


	8. In which Harry finds out

Harry followed the stretcher back to the Hospital Wing. If McGonagall saw  
  
him, she didn't say anything. It was cold. Harry was cold. He felt chilled  
  
from the inside out, wondering who could have done this to Snape. And then  
  
he heard footsteps behind him. Whirling around, he saw Dumbledore with a dog  
  
tailing him. And it suddenly became clear.  
  
"Sirius!" he screamed, grabbing the dog ferociously by the collar as  
  
Dumbledore stepped forwards.  
  
"You did this, you bastard! You killed him!"  
  
Dumbledore gripped Harry's arm firmly, and Harry had to remember not to cry  
  
out in pain.  
  
"Professor Snape is not dead. He will be fine, once he has received proper  
  
medical attention. Now, shall we go to my office?"  
  
Fuming, Harry followed the headmaster and the skulking dog up to the office.  
  
When they were there, Sirius transformed back into his human form and  
  
reached out to Harry, who moved out of his way, eyes cold.  
  
"Don't touch me"  
  
Hurt, he moved back.  
  
"Explain."  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry. I was jealous. I didn't know what to say or do. I wanted  
  
to be there. I wanted to help you."  
  
"Just like you helped me in that letter you sent? Just like you helped me by  
  
sending Lupin? I think I probably could have got by without that help."  
  
Sirius squirmed and looked pleadingly at Albus, who was just un-sticking  
  
sherbet lemons. Studiously ignoring Sirius. Aggravating man.  
  
Harry was still glaring. When the hell had he grown such a backbone? This  
  
was all Snape's fault. Sirius hadn't realised he had spoken aloud until he  
  
felt Harry's hands around his neck.  
  
"This is not Snape's fault! It's your fault! Why the fuck weren't you there  
  
for me when I needed you?"  
  
Sirius hung his head and spoke so softly that Harry almost didn't hear him.  
  
"I was scared, Harry. You were meant to be the same as James, and I couldn't  
  
understand why you weren't. I just didn't know how to react, or what to do.  
  
And Snape did."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"I blew up, Sirius. I'm sorry. I don't hate you, but I am quite pissed off  
  
at you. If you don't mind, I'm going to go and see how Snape is."  
  
Sirius nodded, and Harry left, smiling inside.  
  
They were so blind.  
  
*******************************************  
  
It was his fault. He had seen that as soon as he had realised that it had  
  
been Sirius who had attacked Snape. Another person had nearly lost their  
  
life to him, even after Voldemort was dead. This was so wrong; so bad. It  
  
was all his fault.  
  
Malfoy.  
  
It was his fault that Malfoy was dead, and nearly Snape. They would all be  
  
better off if Harry wasn't there. And this time it was no panicked decision.  
  
He had been thinking about this for a long time now, even though he would  
  
not admit it to himself sometimes. It had, truly, always been on his mind.  
  
He slipped downstairs, through all the hidden passages that he had found  
  
from the Marauders Map, around numerous twists and turns until he was  
  
totally lost. Then again, that was the point. He didn't want to be found, or  
  
to find himself. It was too late. . .too late for all of it.  
  
There was a broom cupboard, which smelled of dust. As he pulled it open, the  
  
latch creaked before snapping, and glaring at it Harry walked on. He had all  
  
the time in the world. Finally, he found an old disused classroom and opened  
  
the door, allowing it to slam shut behind him. Here, in the bowels of the  
  
castle, he would not be heard by anyone.  
  
He sank down into a chair, inexplicably exhausted by his trek, and  
  
contemplated himself. Removing the concealing charm with a flick of his  
  
wand, he admired the network of cuts and scars that adorned his wrists and  
  
forearms, and settled down in a chair. If he was going to die, he wanted to  
  
die beautiful.  
  
First of all he conjured up a pair of scissors, and looked at them  
  
wistfully. No, there would be time enough for that later. He then  
  
transfigured a chair into a large mirror and stood in front of it, running  
  
his hands through his messy hair. He had been neglecting the potion  
  
recently, and it showed. He snipped away the split ends, and tried to  
  
manhandle it into some sort of order. Mainly unsuccessfully. Finally, he  
  
lost his temper and, using almost his magical limit, conjured the  
  
ingredients to make his potion. After all, what was the point of looking  
  
ugly in death? He mixed the potion, painfully aware of his fatigue, and  
  
rubbed it through his hair, feeling the unruly curls go sleek and glossy.  
  
Then he turned his attention to his face. A quick blemish removing charm  
  
sorted out the spot on his cheek, and then finally he cast a sight  
  
correcting charm on his eyes and threw his glasses to the floor, stamping on  
  
them viciously as the epitome of every injustice had been forced to suffer  
  
as Harry Potter. And they shattered. He smiled.  
  
His shabby clothes would hardly do him justice when his body was all people  
  
would see of him, so he took off his robes, which were drenched in sweat  
  
from his exertions, and transfigured his hand-me-down T-shirt and baggy  
  
faded jeans into a plain black shirt and black jeans. He wondered why he had  
  
never thought to do this before. Looking in the mirror, he actually thought  
  
he looked fairly good. He had once heard a saying, 'Live fast, die young,  
  
leave a good looking corpse.' Well, he hadn't lived in the proper sense of  
  
the world, but the other two parts would apply to him.  
  
His eyes drifted back towards the scissors and he absently cut into his arm  
  
with them, not feeling the pain so much as he once had. It had all been so  
  
much easier before, before he had understood what the wizarding world really  
  
wanted from him.  
  
Perfection.  
  
The word made him laugh; after all, down here on his own, he had all the  
  
time in the world to laugh. How did they decide what perfection was? Just  
  
what everyone else in the world wasn't. So, again, he was freakish. . .if he  
  
was perfect. Thinking about the philosophy of it made his head hurt, so he  
  
gave up thinking. Then he noticed that his hands were bloody, and also that  
  
his nails were chipped. Wiping the blood off in a basin in the corner of the  
  
bathroom, and then transfiguring his scissors into a nail file, he worked at  
  
his hands until they were clean, the nails short and neat. Finally, he  
  
inspected his image in the mirror. It was a long way from the Harry Potter  
  
of old. In fact, he was barely recognisable. Frowning at his reflection, he  
  
re-transfigured the nail file into scissors and drew a lightning shaped cut  
  
onto his forehead, smirking as it began to bleed.  
  
This was Harry Potter.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Snape awoke feeling like he had been stamped on. Nothing grave, just the  
  
after-pains of some nasty curse. And he was in the Hospital Wing, which  
  
normally meant that he had been attacked. He heard voices.  
  
". . .now, now, Sirius, I'm sure he will forgive you in time. . ."  
  
Black. And Harry. It was all coming back to him now. he wondered if he could  
  
summon the energy to attack Black. Probably not, with Dumbledore there. The  
  
headmaster was inexplicably fond of the mutt and the werewolf. Even after  
  
the way they had treated Harry. . .  
  
Their voices became clearer as they entered the Hospital Wing, and Snape  
  
feigned sleep.  
  
"Why the hell is it Snape and not me?"  
  
"Sirius, you have been repeating the same question for at least an hour now"  
  
said Dumbledore, a hint of ice in his voice, and Snape repressed a smirk.  
  
And then they went silent.  
  
And Sirius said something that made Snape's eyes spring wide open.  
  
"Where's Harry?"  
  
"What do you mean, where's Harry?" he asked icily, taking little pleasure in  
  
the way both men jumped. His patience quickly ran out.  
  
"Where.Is.He?"  
  
"He. . .he said he was coming in to see you. He was upset."  
  
"You FOOLS!" hissed Snape, pulling himself to his feet. "You complete and  
  
utter IMBECILES!"  
  
Black looked confused, whereas all colour had drained out of Albus' face.  
  
Snape snarled at them.  
  
"Well, don't just stand there! We need to find him!"  
  
As he hurried out, glad that Pomfrey hadn't had time to outfit him in the  
  
vile hospital pyjamas, his mind whirled. Harry must have felt guilty,  
  
thought this was all his fault. Harry must have gone somewhere, to be alone.  
  
He would have hidden.  
  
Snape cast a locating charm on his wand and keyed it to Harry Potter.  
  
"Guide me" he whispered.  
**Yes, I know it's short. I want it like this, because the next chapter will  
  
probably be the last one. I might write alternative endings, perhaps one  
  
where Harry dies and another where he doesn't, or a slash and non-slash.  
  
What do you think?** 


	9. Suicide alternate ending

Snape frantically scrabbled at his robes, searching for his wand.  
  
"Point me, Harry Potter" he gasped out, tightening his grip around the wand as though it was a lifeline. The wand twitched weakly, and swung first to the ground and then to the left. Snape shook it, glaring, but the stick of wood was not intimidated.  
  
"Point me, Harry Potter!"  
  
Still the same happened, and Snap couldn't understand it. Until Dumbledore gasped from behind him. Snape spun around to see the old man's face haggard and pale.  
  
"No. . .no, Harry!"  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
"The dungeons. He's down in the middle of the dungeons. And the weak spell. . ."  
  
He broke off, voice cracking, and Snape suddenly understood, and reeled. The spell was linked to Harry's life force, which meant that said life force was fading. Images exploded through his head with the force of a small bomb - Harry, at the Sorting in his first year, James' eyes wide behind round glasses. Harry, clinging onto his broom for dear life as Quirrel hexed him, Voldemort so close to his prize. Harry, searching for Dumbledore, Harry being right when everyone else said that it was impossible to get past the wards. Harry hissing, at the Duelling Club. Parseltongue. Why did everything always happen to him? Killing the basilisk, rising out of the sink around the Phoenix's neck, bravely clutching the youngest of the Weasley brood. He had saved her. The infuriating boy, stunning Snape and then driving off the Dementors. Harry, jubilation in his eyes as he flew past the dragon. Always the hero, rescuing two students in the lake.  
  
And then. . .Harry, eyes flat, slumping to the ground, clutching Diggory's body as though it was all that was left of his world. Harry, staring at Malfoy's dead body. Harry alone, on the Astronomy Tower, blood soaking his robes. He knew now where that blood had come from. Harry. . .Harry. . .Harry.  
  
Shaking himself out of the reverie, he put all of his energy into thinking where Harry would be. He would have gone to the dungeons, most probably. A heat seeking spell! The. . .his mind faltered. . .the body, would stay warm, and in the deep places there was no other warmth. Sure enough, the spell did guide him, wending a path of blue light down through the hidden passages. It took an obscenely long amount of time for him to find Harry, and all the way there snapshots of the boy flickered through his head. How unkind, how unfair he had been to Harry. How little the boy had deserved it, and how nobody had even seen it. Not even Snape, who prided himself on always seeing past masks. They had all failed Harry, but Harry had done what they had wanted, and now Harry was finally doing what he wanted.  
  
Al he could do.  
  
At that moment, Snape's self-loathing reached new heights and he slumped against a wall. Surely he would not be responsible for another life stolen away?  
  
He pushed himself off from the wall, and stumbled forward, face haggard and breath coming out in pained wheezes.  
  
"Oh Harry," he muttered, more to himself than to Albus who was following, "I swear, if you're alright, I will never speak a word against you as long as I live."  
  
*********************************************  
  
Harry inspected himself in the mirror one more time. He didn't have much time; he knew that they would realise he had gone soon, and while it was unlikely they'd be in time, he didn't want to run the risk. Didn't want the unbearable heaviness of having to go through another day. Alone. Always alone. Absently, he staunched the flow of blood trickling down his arm. He was going to die beautiful, and the irony was not lost on him. Of all that had been ugly in his life - his parents death, all the death that tainted his soul, the pain and hatred that he seemed to attract - his death would be beautiful.  
  
Finally, he took a deep breath, satisfied with his appearance. He had conjured a bed in the corner of the room, in black wood with black sheets and pillows with silver edging. Laying down, he allowed his hair to fan out over the pillows, blending in perfectly. The notes were stacked on a bench, where everyone would see them, all neatly written and in envelopes which would allow only the rightful reader to unseal them.  
  
He positioned his wand on his chest, in a sepulchral position, and then finally took the handy little vial of poison he always kept on him out of his pocket.  
  
Smirking wryly, he raised it to the dusty ceiling in a bitter toast, and downed the entire potion.  
  
***************************************  
  
Snape looked around and realised that he was in an unused part of the castle. He didn't recognise it at all, which was odd as he regarded the dungeons as his domain, and made it is priority to find every single hidden passage or room. However, fatally, this one seemed to have passed him by. There were no sounds coming from anywhere, but as his eyes scanned the passage he noticed a door with a broken hinge - recently broken, too. The dust had been recently disturbed. Lunging forward, he wrenched the door open, squinting into the darkness to see. . .nothing. Damn it, of all times for the boy to suddenly become intelligent and cunning, this could well be the least appropriate.  
  
However he realised that he could see footsteps, which had trodden lightly through the thick dust which coated the floor, leading further down. He followed, clumsy in his haste, tripping and stumbling over stray rocks which lay in his path, until the footsteps finally stopped outside a door. He pushed against it, and fell back with a yelp as his hands burned briefly. So it was well protected them.  
  
Dumbledore came around the corner and Snape frantically waved him over.  
  
"Albus, he's locked the door. You MUST bring it down!"  
  
Dumbledore shut his eyes in concentration for a few seconds, although it felt like hours, before there was a small flash.  
  
"Thank Merlin he wasn't concentrating. . ."  
  
Snape didn't hear. He was already inside the room.  
  
"Oh God. . ."  
  
****************************************  
  
To say that it had been painless would be a pathetic lie. It hurt like the fire of a thousand hells, but it was what he deserved. He knew the science of it: the potion caused back-flow of the blood in some areas, which basically froze the veins and then cut off blood flow to the heart. It was excruciatingly painful, unstoppable, and did not leave the victim with any external injuries. It was perfect.  
  
He could feel every nerve in his body screaming with pain, but forced the gentle smile to stay on his face. He WOULD die beautiful. His funeral would be the epitome of beauty, with tears and smiles, and. . .all that he wanted. All that he deserved. Happiness from the other side.  
  
A final breath now. . .the tortured air leaving his lungs, and a muffled roaring sound in his ears. His face broke into a true smile for the first time in many years, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut, and let the darkness envelop him.  
  
*****************************************  
  
He was too late. He was dead.  
  
Suddenly it felt as though the bottom had fallen out of Snape's heart. He could tell, without looking, that his Harry was dead. His legs refused to support him, and he buckled to the floor, throat constricting. He could hear a roaring in his ears; Dumbledore, Dumbledore saying something. It was irrelevant, it couldn't matter, because Harry was dead. And Happy.  
  
His Harry. The boy he had held like he had never held anyone before - the boy who, in some way, he had given his heart to. He had dared to trust, and it was all his fault. . .  
  
The breaths that had been catching in is throat welled up and he took in a deep gulp of air, feeling it grating against his lungs. Harry would never breathe again. His eyes misted up, and he was dimly aware of Dumbledore embracing him from behind, hot tears dripping onto his neck, and he suddenly became boneless and mindless, and started to scream, and then when his throat was dry and raw he whimpered, and lolled against Dumbledore. It was all his fault. It was his fault that Harry would never smile in life again, it was his fault that Harry was dead.  
  
He staggered to his feet, shivering, worn out from his grief, and moved unsteadily to Harry's bed, placing a finger on the boy's face. He looked so beautiful, as though he was just in a deep sleep, but he was dead.  
  
The tears welled up again, but this time Snape pulled away from Dumbledore, and lay next to Harry, burying his head in the corpse's shoulder, soaking the clothes.  
  
His Harry had died, and Severus Snape was again condemned to be alone.  
  
********************************************** The last lessons of the day had just finished when Dumbledore emerged from a passage in the dungeons, followed by Snape who was carrying a cloth- covered body in his arms. From beneath the drape, a sheet of silky black hair was visible, cascading over Snape's shoulder. Both men were silent and red-eyed, Snape trying to suppress shivers that wracked his body. At one stage as they passed through the school, Dumbledore tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Snape shrugged it off, and moved away from Dumbledore, and they resumed their journey in silence. On the final corridor before the Hospital Wing, they were unfortunate enough to run into a group of excited first years who stopped dead and nearly fell over themselves trying to run in the other direction. Snape ignored them, perhaps for the first time in his career at Hogwarts resisting the temptation to deduct Hogwarts. Harry would be proud of him. . .  
  
His eyes filled with tears again, and he bent his head, kicking the door open with his feet and striding in. With a reverence never before seen from him, he laid Harry on a bed and watched him wordlessly, barely even registering the sound of a dog howling. Then he was knocked over by a semi- transformed dog which merged into the shape of Black.  
  
"No! No I'll kill you if he's dead!"  
  
Snape turned away and Sirius was silent.  
  
"God, no, Harry. Harry!"  
  
He crumpled to the floor, clutching in futility at Harry's cold hands. Not knowing why he did it, Snape moved behind Sirius and touched his shoulder.  
  
"We were too late. He poisoned himself. I am sorry. . .I tried to help, for my part, but I failed him."  
  
"Oh god, Harry" whimpered Sirius. He looked as though his world had just caved in on him.  
  
Snape hauled him upright, and pushed him towards the door.  
  
"Go away, Black" he said, though not unkindly. "Take Messrs Finnegan and Thomas with you, and go and get totally pissed. You deserve it, and there is nothing you can do here." Sirius looked blankly at Snape, and then sat down and began muttering Harry's name. Not having the energy to get irritated, he sat next to Black, only a little surprised when the other man leaned against him.  
  
"Sirius, it isn't your fault. Not entirely. It's everyone's fault. We all killed him."  
  
Sirius let out a fresh howl, burying his head in Snape's chest.  
  
"SHUT UP!"  
  
Okay, maybe he did have the energy to get pissed off. Sirius shut up, and Snape brought his face very close.  
  
"Harry is dead. I am devastated, and you are, but there is nothing we can do. Only to make sure that all his dying wishes are executed."  
  
Sirius nodded forlornly, and took the envelope that Snape handed him.  
  
"Albus has the. . .the funeral arrangements" said Snape, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have a note, and I will deliver the other ones to the teachers."  
  
Sirius nodded wordlessly, opening his last contact with his godson, as Snape left the room.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Dear Severus.  
  
I hope I can call you Severus. Don't blame yourself for this, or Sirius. This is my own choice, one that I will not let anyone take from me. I couldn't cope any more, and I'm sorry. I asked Sirius to take care of you, and now I ask you to look after him as much as you can.  
  
I bring death and destruction wherever I go, and so for your sake and the world's, I will go no more.  
  
Thank you for everything you have ever done for me.  
  
Harry.  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
Snape looked at the letter in his hands. It was creased, and tear-stained. With his tears. He finally stretched, and moved towards the fireplace.  
  
"Infirmary" he muttered, and stepped into the flames. Harry was still on the bed, still beautiful. Sirius had fallen asleep, and was on a bed. Either his constant sobbing had worn him out, or he had been dosed with strong sleeping potions.. He moved over to his Harry, and took one icy cold hand, praying that it was some sort of mistake, praying that something was right in the world. He remained like that for the longest time, until Dumbledore gently tugged him away, and then he slept and drank, and slept some more.  
  
Harry's funeral was arranged to take place the next week. It was an occasion of true beauty. Snape refused to make a speech, simply because he wasn't able to think of the words to describe Harry in life or death. Some people tried, but broke off crying. So many tears. . .and Snape realised that this was what Harry deserved; his one selfish deed.  
  
They were crying the tears that he had been forced to cry on their behalf.  
  
And he smiled. Maybe there was some fairness in the world.  
  
**************************************  
  
After the funeral, there was widespread grief. Weasley especially was virtually inconsolable, although nobody knew why he should be taking it so badly. Then McGonagall gave him the note from Harry which she had held back, and his outlook improved, although Snape feared the cloud of sadness would never leave his eyes completely. And slowly, Hogwarts returned to normal. Snape upset countless students, and continued to gain a little pleasure from it. But every night he returned to his chambers, and unconsciously checked the sofa and bedroom for any signs of a small boy, curled up, asleep or sobbing. Harry was never there.  
  
Harry was gone.  
  
Harry was never coming back.  
  
And his failure haunted him for the rest of life, until finally at the age of 573, relatively young for a wizard, shocked by Peeves, he dropped an entire bottle of beeswax into an already volatile potion, and died of a heart attack.  
  
****************************************  
  
The afterlife was bright. Bright as in sunny day bright, rather than 'fire- of-hell' bright. It was quite pleasant, actually.  
  
He heard a low chuckle coming from above him.  
  
"I might have guessed it would be the potions, Severus. . ."  
  
Looking up, barely daring to hope, he saw his Harry, sleek haired and smiling, dancing eyes illuminated by the sun.  
  
"I'm so glad to see you" he murmered, as Snape wrapped him into a suffocating embrace, "But I don't regret a thing."  
  
Snape stood back slightly and looked at Harry.  
  
"Good" he whispered, and drew the boy back into the hug.  
THE END 


	10. Survivor alternate ending

Harry ran as though he had no bounds to his energy. His legs pistoned as he  
  
found himself flying deeper into the remote areas of the castle, the running  
  
slightly liberating. Now he didn't want the feeling of warm, sticky blood  
  
running down his arms, legs, chest, stomach. He wanted the cool feeling of  
  
dry air caressing his face, the welcome relief of tiredness. And so he kept  
  
on running.  
  
Legs pumping more slowly now, lungs starting to burn. When his head began to  
  
spin, he opened his mouth and gulped in fresh air, which gave his aching  
  
muscles another spurt of energy. The feeling of being totally lost was  
  
actually quite liberating. He didn't want to be found.  
  
Finally, he reached a suitable looking room. Well, it wasn't really a room,  
  
but at the moment all he wanted was to hide, and this closet seemed perfect.  
  
In the dark, damp cupboard, he felt as though he could hide, safe on all  
  
fronts. If he couldn't see anything, then surely nothing could see him?  
  
Childish as it sounded, the reasoning made him feel better, and he sat  
  
hugging his knees, catching his breath. How far had he run? This was  
  
definitely a part of the dungeon he had never visited before, so he must be  
  
fitter than he thought. Drawing his robes tightly around him, acutely  
  
feeling the cold as the sweat began to dry on his body, he looked down at  
  
his hands. The small scars were going purple from the cold, and he wasn't  
  
sure if he liked the look or not. Not that there was anything he could do  
  
about it now.  
  
Displeased with his ruminations, he began to pick at his fingernails. They  
  
had grown long, but ragged from chewing, and were slightly grubby. What was  
  
he waiting for? He didn't know. And then he did. He gasped, and his eyes  
  
filled instinctively with tears.  
  
He was waiting to die.  
  
And he had never known this deep, suffocating, restrictive, overwhelming,  
  
overpowering sense of. . .nothing. Nothing. He wanted everything to go  
  
black, and disappear, fade out.  
  
"Oh god" he whispered, in utter futility. "Save me."  
  
*********************************************  
  
Snape prowled around, eyes flashing, mind whirring. Where could Harry have  
  
gone? Where would he have gone if he had wanted to be alone?  
  
The dungeons.  
  
It was the answer that recurred over and over again, but he had combed the  
  
dungeons, and there was no sign of Harry. No footprints, to doors ajar, no  
  
magical signature. The rest of the staff had checked every conceivable  
  
hiding place, including the Astronomy Tower. His invisibility cloak had been  
  
found in the Gryffindor dormitories, along with a hysterical Granger and a  
  
load of totally confused idiots. Which hadn't helped matters at all. Stupid  
  
Gryffindors.  
  
Finally, through the linking spell which all the teachers had on so that  
  
anyone finding Harry could alert the rest of them, he told Albus he would go  
  
further into the dungeons. . .just in case. He knew the probability was  
  
minute, but he couldn't get the thought that he and Harry were not so  
  
dissimilar out of his head; and having combed every other square inch of the  
  
castle, if nothing else the expedition would soothe his frazzled nerves a  
  
little. So, with Albus' blessing, he walked down to the dungeons and began  
  
his search.  
  
And struck gold.  
  
After about half an hour of aimless wandering, he caught sight of a door  
  
slightly open, and a torch alight. The torches only lit if something went  
  
past them, which must mean that recently someone had passed. He wrenched  
  
open the door, and practically ran down the corridor, following the light  
  
footsteps. Harry must have been running, and quickly at that. His steps had  
  
been light, and wide spaced. Unfortunately, this made it very hard for Snape  
  
to trace them. It was a slow and arduous job, but eventually he reached the  
  
door of some sort of cupboard. The footsteps had stopped abruptly outside,  
  
making scuff-marks in the dust, and there was a hand-print on the door.  
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, although his stomach was uneasy at the thought  
  
of what condition Harry might be in, he pushed open the door.  
  
*********************************************  
  
It made sense, really. The best way to go would be to cut his wrists. He  
  
would also have the feeling he wanted, of seeing the world fade away, rather  
  
than just blacking out suddenly. He didn't think. Didn't care. Wrote no  
  
note, planned nothing.  
  
The boy-who-lived, dying in a disused cupboard at Hogwarts School for  
  
Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had a certain ring to it. He didn't care.  
  
Transfiguring a blade, he brought it to his wrist, took a deep breath,  
  
looked at the clear white skin. . .dropped the blade, fumbled for it with  
  
trembling fingers. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to do this.  
  
Come on, he told himself. Show them that fucking Gryffindor bravery that  
  
they're trying to force on you all the time.  
  
This time his hand was steady as he pressed down firmly on the forbidden  
  
vein, and watched the blood begin to spurt out, in increasing amounts.  
  
It all began to darken, and he felt a drunken smile spread over his face.  
  
Getting darker and darker, everything was fading out. . .  
  
And then there was light.  
  
*************************************  
  
Snape darted into the cupboard, and grasped Harry's bleeding wrists tightly,  
  
almost retching as he felt pulses of blood beating in vain against his  
  
fingers.  
  
"Oh god, Harry. What have you done?"  
  
Harry shivered, and Snape looked in horror as his head began to loll to the  
  
side.  
  
"No, Harry, no! Hold on. Please. Please. . ."  
  
Clumsy in his haste, Snape set about trying to bandage the wounds as best he  
  
could, trying to ignore the green eyes resting on him. Finally the  
  
nervousness got the better of him, and he began to babble.  
  
"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't. . .I don't know. I  
  
suppose I should have an excuse. But I don't. I wish it hadn't taken me so  
  
long to find you. I wish I could understand you, Harry."  
  
Harry smiled weakly, and Snape put a long, blood-stained finger under his  
  
chin.  
  
"I think I've stopped the bleeding now. Will you drink this?"  
  
Harry did so without question, and some colour immediately returned to his  
  
face. He coughed slightly.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
Snape smirked.  
  
"Whiskey"  
  
Harry almost smiled, and Snape pulled him into a hug.  
  
"For Merlin's sake, Harry, please never do anything like that again. I was  
  
so scared. . .I thought I was going to lose you. I don't know what I would  
  
do if I lost you. Don't leave me. . ."  
  
Harry ran a hand through his Snape's hair, without even thinking.  
  
"I thought you hated me" he said wryly, surprised at Snape's vehement  
  
denial.  
  
"Do not say that! I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life. I was  
  
too proud to admit I was wrong. I wish I had an excuse. Does being a greasy  
  
bastard count?"  
  
Harry smiled again, softly, and leaned against Snape.  
  
"I wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
****************************************************  
  
A/N This is where the slash will be inserted. Ugh, this is getting  
  
confusing. . .anyone who hasn't signed up who wants slash, please do! I will  
  
be sending it out as soon as it is done. Just email me with your email, and  
  
preferably a sycophantic email. Thanks!  
  
*****************************************************  
  
The two men fell asleep against each other, both exhausted from the long  
  
day, and their injuries. They were, at some stage, taken up to the  
  
infirmary, where they were both checked over. However no lasting damage was  
  
done.  
  
One night, the darkness came back to Harry, washing over him until his very  
  
soul was saturated with depression, and he crawled into Severus' bed,  
  
holding the older man tight, and relishing the feeling of being held. And  
  
the darkness left.  
The darkness never came back.  
THE END  
* I need reviews like I need water. That is, very much. And it's not that  
  
hard, really. *pleading eyes** 


	11. Slash Altrnate Ending and explanation fo...

Ooookay, well this got well and truly bollocked up. AOL decided I was spamming and cut of my account as well as my father's - ouch. Bad vibes. When I finally got reconnected I found that a load of people didn't receive the slash, so I'm now posting it here. Which is really annoying because I know some people don't want to read the slash. But basically I can't resend it to everyone or I'll have my account de-activated for good. *snarls* So those of you who asked but didn't receive, here it is.  
*FLASHBACK*  
  
Harry ran a hand through his Snape's hair, without even thinking.  
  
"I thought you hated me" he said wryly, surprised at Snape's vehement  
  
denial.  
  
"Do not say that! I made a mistake, the biggest mistake of my life. I was  
  
too proud to admit I was wrong. I wish I had an excuse. Does being a greasy  
  
bastard count?"  
  
Harry smiled again, softly, and leaned against Snape.  
  
"I wouldn't have it any other way."  
*END FLASHBACK*  
  
Snape looked sharply at Harry, but the boy was oblivious. Or so he thought. Until suddenly a pair of wet lips fastened themselves to his, and he recoiled without thinking.  
  
Harry sat back, horror beginning to dawn on his now crimson face. Snape could think of a thousand reasons why this was wrong, primarily because Harry was a student, and underage.  
  
But. . .it had been a good kiss.  
  
While it had lasted.  
  
Deciding that thinking would have to wait for another day, he leaned in again, and softly brushed the boy's lips with his own. Why in Merlin's name was he doing this? He had never felt any attraction to Harry before, but this just felt so right. So perfect. So wrong. So good!  
  
Harry whimpered slightly, tilting his head back, and the little bit of common sense that was itching Severus' conscience immediately rushed to his groin, so that the older man groaned as well. He felt Harry press up against him, whimpering with sheer need, and wondered where the hell this had all come from. It was completely surreal; one second, Harry had been trying to commit suicide, and now he was kissing Snape.  
  
"Harry, are you. . .is this what you want?"  
  
Harry looked up, the twin pools of emerald seeming to spin in front of him, and nodded, speaking more coherently than Severus could have.  
  
"I. . .don't understand. But I need you. I want you."  
  
Severus nodded, and swooped forward to claim Harry's lips in a searing kiss that left them both gasping for breath. Their tongues darted over one another, seeking, probing. And then Harry began to grind against Severus, so hard that Snape almost came from the sheer feeling of it. It had been so long.  
  
H pushed Harry off, rolled him over onto his back, and pulled his robe open so that he could trail little sucking kisses down that delectable pale, creamy skin. For once, the scars seemed irrelevant. What was relevant was the way Harry arched up moaning as Severus' skilled tongue brushed over an already hard nipple.  
  
"Oh God, Severus!"  
  
His already hard cock twitched at the sounds of pleasure coming from his lover.  
  
"Do you like that?" he asked, furious with his voice for cracking in the middle of the syllable. He was near frantic with desire, running his hands over every inch of Harry's gorgeous, amazing, fantastic body.  
  
"Yes. . .oh god, more, more!"  
  
And then before Harry even knew what had happened, a warm mouth engulfed his cock, and he saw stars.  
  
"Sweet Merlin!" he gasped, grabbing Sev's hair with his hand. The talented tongue laved a long line down his shaft, and then whipped up to circle his head, and with a shout he came violently, dimly aware through the sparks in front of his eyes, of Severus lapping up his cum and leaning in to kiss him. And then his wand was out. . .  
  
"Lubricus"  
  
Oh Merlin! Thought Harry, and that was his last coherent thought as the spell relaxed the muscles in his arse, making him feel like he had never felt before. Severus was finally naked and rock hard, and Harry unwittingly licked his lips.  
  
"Are you sure. . .this is what. . .you want?"  
  
Severus' voice was ragged with lust, and Harry could do nothing except gaze at him in adoration. What had he done to deserve this?  
  
And then Severus plunged into him, and Harry thought for a moment that he had died and gone to heaven. And then Severus hit his prostate gland and he knew that he had died, and gone somewhere better than heaven, and he felt his cock swelling again. Still Snape's relentless pounding continued, and sparks of pleasure shot through Harry at the same time as the increasingly frequent and loud groans of his lover, until with a few strokes from Sev's hand, Harry stiffened and came, crying out Severus' name. Snape himself followed a few moments later, gasping, and they stared at each other for a long moment, each fearing the worst.  
  
And then Severus leaned in and kissed Harry softly on the lips, and Harry kissed him back chastely.  
  
"Do you love me?" asked Harry, softly, childishly. Snape allowed his face to break out into a smile, and nodded.  
  
"Love you too" murmered Harry, and then curled up against Severus' side, purring contentedly. And, still smiling, Snape thought to himself that maybe everything would be ok now  
  
It was the best they could hope for. 


End file.
